The River Shall Flood
by Crowhop
Summary: This is a story about the river of the mind: a rushing stream of thought and emotion, one that can easily be filled beyond capacity by too much outward strain. How the river of every nightmaren was filled with an early downpour, and someone drowned.
1. The Clouds Have Gathered

I'm baa-aack!

*crickets chirp*

All: *are silent*

Insomnia: *blows a kazoo*

Kazoo: *"phhhh-bweeeeeee"*

…fine, then don't be excited, you mean people. *cough* Anyway, you know what time it is---yup! It's time for the extremely long author's note with no useful content whatsoever that every reader hates! YAY!

Number one: recently, a friend of mine brought to my attention a small problem. Apparently, in the Harry Potter world, "The Great Hall" is the name of the place they eat or something; I wouldn't know, as I haven't read the books or seen the movies, but that's what she said. I want to clarify that point right here and now: the Great Hall in my stories is _not_ a mess hall. It's a room for the High Seekers, sort of like a recreation room. I picture it as having a fireplace, maybe a tapestry or two, nice carpeting, vases, etc. Nice sitting-room-type place.

On to number two. The same friend, after reading the _second_ chapter, asked me why I'd dedicated it to NightDragon. Please, don't think that I was slighting my other reviewers. It's just that I wanted to give NightDragon a special thank you, and that seemed the best way to do it. Why? Because she's a very good writer; she's my first, friendliest, and longest reviewer; and because it gives me a lot of encouragement to know that there's another girl out there writing NID fan fiction like me, and she's looking forward to reading my stuff like I look forward to reading hers. She was kind enough to provide me with color pictures of the Minions, as well. And, though I never told her, Lorelei used to be my penname. *grin* And she likes Jackle. How could I not think her great?

Okay, last thing. I used to spell NiGHTS as Nights, because the capitals seemed to distract peoples' eyes from further up the page; however I've been hanging around the Dream Realm message boards a lot lately, and while there I make a conscious effort to spell the maren's name right. It's become habit, and by now when I'm writing I instantly spell it with the caps. After a heap of deliberation---

AC: She was eating cheese doodles and watching The Three Stooges with her brother.

After A HEAP OF DELIBERATION, I figured ah, what the heck. Spell it like it should be spelled, and make NightDragon and BlackFox happy. So from this point on he's NiGHTS, like he should be. 

Not to mention a _subtle hint_ from NightDragon that my version of his name was improper…^.^

Oh yeah, one more thing. Nightmaren. When referring to "nightmaren", I mean either the High Seekers or, more often, dream creatures which resemble Nights or Reala. You know, general human body shape, round head, big cat eyes, etc. In my stories I have quite a lot of the little buggers---

Insomnia: LITTLE BUGGERS?!

---and they're all lower on big heap-um's---Wizeman's---totem pole than the High Seekers. Ranks of soldiers, if you will. There's a lot of them. *nods* I know, I know, that's not canon, and Wizeman has no need for a giant fighting force when he himself is more powerful than NiGHTS, Reala, Bill Clinton, broccoli, and even that Ash kid from Pokemon, but this is artistic license at work again. I LIKE my maren, thank you. Cope with 'em.

There, end of long boring author's note. Now you can read the actual story. As always, please review; I only bother posting this stuff when I know someone's reading it. Thanks to all the people who reviewed my other stories; it's because of you I sat down and got this thing finished. Not to mention every time I get a review it makes my day because writing is, essentially, my life. Thanks!

__________: The disclaimer that's supposed to say I don't own these characters was blown up. Seems to happen a lot around here.

Jackle: *from another room* GIMME BACK MY EXPLODING CARDS!!

The River Shall Flood

__

Slow river, tarnished water

Silent already with the sense of sea---

Hold us a little in your drifting thought,

O silent, sad river! We,

We too forefeel; we too remember;

Destiny awaits us as it waits for you

Beyond the sea-fall on those shuddering beaches…

_Chapter One:_

The Clouds Have Gathered

_Questo quid juris. _

{Latin excerpt from The Canterbury Tales. "The question is, what is the point of the law?"}

Lunch at Nightmare Castle was a noisy event. Of course, this was the normal state of affairs, but today the talking reached a new record of sheer length and decibel levels. The Dining Hall was filled with nightmaren, all talking excitedly with their neighbors about Wizeman's announcement that morning. Which wasn't really surprising, as taking over the Waking World isn't something that is done every day.

Hist wrinkled his nose in disgust. Couldn't these idiots _ever_ let him have a quiet lunch? He'd been looking forward to being able to think over the morning's events, and he couldn't even hear his own thoughts in this noisy room. It seemed every nightmaren and his brother was either boasting he'd be the one to find a Red Ideya or verbally pondering what the Waking World would be like. Didn't the fools see this was more then a simple game? If they hadn't found a Red Ideya yet, they certainly weren't going to within the next few days. And taking over a world, even with Wizeman's leadership, wasn't simply the work of an hour. Fools.

As usual, within five minutes he was fed up with the chatter and took his lunch out to the wall top. It wasn't the most comfortable place to eat, but at least it was quiet up there.

Normally Jackle didn't mind the noise in the Dining Hall; it was loud, to be sure, but not deafening. Besides, he liked being around other people. Talking didn't bother him.

However, there was such a thing as absurd levels of noise, and the occupants of the Dining Hall had reached them some time ago. His ears were beginning to hurt.

Sighing, he slipped a roll and some cheese into a cloth and headed for his room; he wanted to think, and Dining Hall obviously wasn't the place to do it. 

His bedroom was as quiet as it had been during the night. The walls around here seemed to absorb sound, making it difficult to hear what was going on in the next room. Right now Jackle was very thankful for their blocking ability. He went out on the balcony, sat down, and began to eat. The food wasn't half as good as the stuff he could have gotten if he'd gone to his seat in Dining Hall---after all, he _was_ a High Seeker, and as a rule they were fed very well---but better a loaf of bread in silence then a steak dinner in a wind tunnel, or something that was reaching the near proximity of a wind tunnel's noise.

A cawing at his shoulder alerted him of a visitor. "Hello, AC."

AC, perched on the balcony railing behind him, cawed again. Jackle smiled and broke off a piece of cheese, waiting until the crow hopped onto his shoulder before giving it to him. AC immediately began attacking the cheese like there was no tomorrow.

"You know, I read a story just two days ago about a crow who had a piece of cheese," Jackle remarked absent-mindedly, looking out across the dream-landscape with fond eyes. "He had a big chunk of it, and he had it in his beak, just like you. A fox came along, and when he saw the cheese, he asked the crow to sing. The crow was flattered and opened his mouth to oblige him, and of course you know what happened."

AC cawed, being careful to take the cheese in a firm grip with his left foot before he did so.

"Yep. The cheese fell, and the fox ate it. And that was that."

The crow bobbed his head once, and then went back to eating his meal. Jackle grinned and scratched the ebony feathers around the bird's neck, speaking as he did so. "That's what I like about you, AC. You're a good listener."

He sighed and brought his wrist up to his shoulder, letting AC, still holding his cheese, hop on for a face-to-face conversation. "And I need someone to talk to."

The crow paused in his attack of the cheese and waited, eyes glinting with a strange intelligence. Jackle paused to reassure himself before continuing.

"I heard them again, AC. The voices. I don't know what's wrong with me---why am I hearing things like this?"

AC cocked his head to one side, cheese forgotten, his eyes gleaming in a silent query. "No, I don't mean at night---I've gotten used to that. I mean…" He looked down, his voice becoming soft. "I heard them this morning. While I was awake."

The crow blinked, but did nothing. 

Jackle seemed to be at a loss. "I know it sounds weird, but I heard them! I really did!" He paused as AC bobbed his head. "Yeah, I know you believe me. I'm just trying to convince myself. I mean, hearing them at night I can cope with---it's just a weird side effect of being different, right?"

AC turned his head, giving the demi-maren a one-eye stare. Jackle sighed. "Well, it was the only explanation we could come up with, right? And I was getting used to it, too…But now I heard them while I was awake…" 

He looked lost, like a child who has just realized the person he's been following through the store is not his mother. His eyes were frightened, and his voice was unnaturally young-sounding. "AC, what's wrong with me?"

The crow could not answer. He only cawed, which could mean anything. Or nothing.

Jackle shivered a bit, unconsciously drawing further into his mantle. "I don't know what's going on, but there's something that's not right. I shouldn't be hearing things, they shouldn't be there. That's not supposed to happen, AC! Only---only insane people hear voices in their head! And I'm not insane. I'm just, y'know, loony sometimes…"

AC gave him a look of disbelief. Jackle was about to protest; then, his expression faded into a grin. "Oh, shut up."

AC cawed, the sound eerily resembling a laugh. After a moment Jackle's chuckle joined in, and the two friends lost themselves in wild laughter.

Insomnia, flying nearby at the time, freaked.

NiGHTS, coming into the Dining Hall, was nearly blown back out by the sheer amount of noise flying through the air. Chuckling, he sallied onwards, making his way through the maze of tables until he found the one he was looking for. Quite a few younger nightmaren were gathered about it, all talking excitedly about the new adventure. Striding up, he paused at the head and cleared his throat.

Instantly every one of the youngsters at the table had quieted. As one they stood, giving him a group salute. He let his gaze travel the length of the table, evaluating the straightness of their stance and quickness of their response; finally, he nodded. The group relaxed and sat back down.

Grinning, NiGHTS plopped into the nearest empty seat. "Glad that's over with," someone said.

Another young maren, a girl who went by the name of Jitters, nodded in agreement. "Too bad we can't just ditch the whole stand and salute thing, huh?"

NiGHTS took the bowl offered him and began to serve himself some mashed potatoes. "Yeah, but you know Reala. My brother'd have a fit if I just walked up and sat down like a perfectly normal person."

"Actually, he probably wouldn't have a problem with that," said a feminine voice behind him. He glanced back to see Puffy. "It's Clawz you'd have on your back."

"True," chuckled NiGHTS. "He'd have a fit. 'You're a High Seeker, for goodness' sake, NiGHTS! You can't just walk up and act like you're _normal_! You shouldn't even be sitting with the crowd,' yadda yadda yadda. That cat needs to learn to loosen up a bit with the rules."

"He _does_ need to calm down," admitted Puffy. "But he stays on Wizeman's good side."

"By following every rule in the book."

"At least he'll never get in trouble for rebelling," replied Puffy, and bounced away towards her seat.

"He'll also never have any fun," retorted NiGHTS before turning back to his lunch. Within minutes he was involved in a cheerful conversation with the younger nightmaren as to what the Waking World would look like, and the subject of rules and rebelling was forgotten.

Reala walked into the Dining Hall, took one look around, and walked back out.


	2. Distant The Thunder

~AN~ Okie-do, I'll make this quick. Just a little "I-Am-Stupid-I-Can't-Believe-I-Made-That-Mistake" note.

*ahems* In the first chapter, I said the Dining Hall was filled with "third-level nightmaren". *begins whamming her head on her desk* You know those first-levels I mentioned in the author's note, the ranks of soldiers guys? That's who I meant. It should have been "nightmaren", not "third-levels". *continues whamming head, repeating herself as she does* I will NOT call first-levels third-levels. I will NOT call first-levels third-levels.

Second mistake: During NiGHTS' brief conversation with Puff-ball, he mimics Clawz. One of his sentences is "You're a first-level, for goodness' sake, NiGHTS!" *continues whamming her head* "First-level" should have been "High Seeker". *is still whamming her head* WHAT WAS I THINKING?!

*sigh* Sorry. Our car died in the driveway three weeks ago, our sewage system went pot a week or two before that, and our hot water heater kicked the bucket a week after. Not to mention the breaker connected to our washer keeps kicking off, so our basement was flooded a few days ago. Meaning we've been kind of busy. Along with all that, I'm already going through end-o'-the-school-year-braindead syndrome; therefore I'm not really surprised that I made a mistake. Ah well. I fixed said mistakes, and re-checked this chapter for any, so thankfully you won't have to worry about finding more. Enjoy the story!

Insomnia: *holds up a sign*

Sign: REVIEW. 

Insomnia: *flips over sign*

Other Side Of Sign: THANK YOU!

Disclaimer: I don't like lima beans. I really don't like cabbage. I hate roasted duck. I REALLY hate bullies. Unfortunately, that last item on the list isn't something that will go away by eating it.

_Chapter Two:_

Distant The Thunder

__

Thus sayeth the Lord; Behold, waters rise up out of the north, and shall be an overflowing flood, and shall overflow the land, and all that is therein; the city, and them that dwell therein: then the men shall cry, and all the inhabitants of the land shall howl.

Jeremiah 47:2

Vespers was flying as fast as she could. Considering she was one of the speediest in her class, that was pretty fast. But it didn't help; the nightmaren behind her had far more experience with flying, and no matter what kind of stunt she pulled off, she couldn't lose him.

She pulled back and shot straight up, hoping to catch him by surprise; he followed her easily. Desperate, she gathered up the last of her energy and got ready to use her final resort attack. 

"Paraloop!" she shouted.

The vortex created by her last-ditch effort was enough to send her pursuer tumbling out of control. Unfortunately, she'd used all of her strength to pull it off. With a groan, her body went limp, and she fell towards the ground.

"Vespers!" bellowed her teacher.

Vespers, known as Ves to her friends, groaned again and pulled herself off the trampoline she'd just hit. "Yes, Miss Luna?"

"How many times have I told you that you can't just let yourself fall like that?"

"Thirteen?" hazarded Vespers.

The older nightmaren sighed and shook her head, pushing a stray wisp of silver hair out of her eyes. "Fifteen, Vespers, fifteen. And, had those been _real_ events and not training lessons, you would have died fifteen times by now. Sixteen, counting this one."

Vespers bowed her head ashamedly. "I'm sorry, Miss Luna, I just run out of strength and then I can't help but fall."

Luna evaluated the young nightmaren for a moment sternly. Then she smiled. "Hey now, don't look so down about it. You'll get stronger."

"Thank you, Miss Luna," replied Vespers, bowing hurriedly and heading back to her place in line. 

Luna smiled and turned back to the row of young maren. "Who's next?" 

Another young girl stepped forward and raised her hand. "I am, Miss Luna."

Luna nodded once. "Alright, then, Starshine. Get yourself ready." She looked over at the panting nightmaren stretched out on the floor, his back propped against the wall. "You ready for another round, Corbeau?"

Corbeau grinned and got up, stretching carefully. "Sure."

"Alright, then. Star, go stand over there. Now you know the rules: no touching ground, and no offensive moves unless you absolutely must; you're supposed to be running, not attacking." She directed a glare at a certain young male maren in line, who blushed embarrassedly. "So no turning around and tackling Corbeau like _some people _did, is that clear?"

"Of course it is, Miss Luna."

"Good. Corbeau?"

"Roger."

"Alright. Ready. Set. Go!"

The nightmaren both took off, the young girl trying desperately to keep ahead of the older scouter. Corbeau was careful to keep just behind her, never too close and never too far. He was talented in the area of aerial stunts; it was why he'd been chosen as a scout in the first place.

NiGHTS, watching from the doorway, had to smile. The youngsters were all the same: hopeful, eager, excited, wanting to prove themselves to their teacher. They were so full of exuberance.

A frown touched his mouth. Soon enough, these children would be facing war. Only yesterday Wizeman had announced they'd be taking over the Waking World, which meant that they'd be fighting. And this time there wouldn't be a trampoline underneath for anyone who ran out of energy.

_'Wizeman knows best,'_ he decided. _'If he thinks these kids are ready to help take over the Waking World, then they are.'_ But still, he couldn't help but feel slightly worried.

"S'not like I'm going to take orders from a hairball-hurling cat."

"What?!"

Puffy sighed and concentrated harder on her book. Gulpo, underwater as he was, couldn't really hear what was going on and thus didn't mind the argument currently underway across the room. Gillwing just tucked his head deeper into his side and hoped it would be over soon.

Jackle and Clawz had, unfortunately, been assigned to patrol leader positions for the day. Individually that would not have been bad; it was the fact that they had to work together that was causing a bit of trouble.

It was a well-known fact that Jackle and Clawz had a less-than-friendly relationship. Clawz viewed Jackle as a empty-headed, completely off the wall joker who was very probably clinically insane; Jackle in his turn saw Clawz as a narcissistic cat who had no real personality beyond his love for himself and explosions. These viewpoints obviously caused some rather large rifts between the two, the most recent of which sparked a long campaign consisting of hundreds of sniping remarks and practical jokes, including a few rare moments of violence, explosions, and wet noodles. (Jackle had been heavily involved with the wet noodle part.) 

The two managed to keep themselves well-behaved while in Wizeman's presence, so the issue had never been addressed; it was, however, a very well-known problem. At least, the other High Seekers viewed it as a problem; Clawz saw it as annoying, but enjoyable when he scored a point, and Jackle saw it as alternately fun and aggravating.

Currently, the two were at it hammer and tongs over a comment of Clawz's: namely, the line 'I'll lead. You'll be the vanguard.' Jackle, annoyed by the catmaren's nerve to give him orders when they were officially on the same level, replied with something referring to the catmaren's courage, or rather lack thereof; and that had started them off. 

Puffy tried vainly to shut the two out by focusing on her book. When that didn't work, she tried bending her ears down and pressing them close against her head; it muffled the sound a bit, but not enough to achieve much-wanted silence. Resolving not to let the two snarling nightmaren get to her, she stared hard at the page.

Then, there was silence. For a moment no one moved. Eventually Puffy looked up, Gillwing lifted his head from his flank, and Gulpo opened one eye lazily; the two combatants were now involved in a stare-down.

_'Well, at least it's quiet,' _thought Puffy with a resigned sigh. Once again she looked back down at her book and concentrated on finding out more about those fascinating humans called opera singers.

Jackle, apparently, tired of the staring contest first and looked away. Clawz grinned triumphantly. Jackle ignored him.

"So are you guys gonna go out on patrol?" asked Gillwing, earning himself evil glares from four different people all at once. He shut up and curled back into a ball, silently wondering what he'd said wrong. Sometimes he wished he had been created as smart as the others, or at least with more brains than he currently had.

Puffy sighed and looked over her page at the two fuming nightmaren. "You're going to have to go out sometime."

Two of the four evil glares were now transferred to her. She colored and ducked back behind her book, retreating into a silent huff. Clawz and Jackle eyed her for a moment more, then glanced at the only other person in the room, Gulpo; the huge fish was floating languidly in his bowl, eyes closed, not bothering to see what would happen next. No more audience participation, then. 

Clawz's gaze returned to the demi-maren in front of him, and he sniffed condescendingly. "We'll go out, Gillwing, as soon as this maren finds himself a proper body."

Jackle stiffened as quickly and harshly as if someone had shoved a ramrod straight down his back. Puffy's eyes widened, and she inhaled quickly; Gillwing winced. Even Gulpo looked up interestedly. Jackle didn't reply; he merely stood there, gazing at the catmaren with a frozen expression. Behind him Gillwing whimpered. 

If there was one thing you didn't do, it was slight Jackle about his body. The demi-maren originally didn't mind the fact that he was created different from the first-levels; however, over time, and due largely to Clawz's influence, the idea of not having a visible body became connected with a person not having as much value. Clawz, using it as an insult, might as well have called Jackle a Nightopian to his face. Although, to get the full effect he'd just gotten now, Jackle would have had to possess a Nightopian body as well.

The demi-maren continued to stare at him, his eyes silently searching his opponent's; then, he turned away, pulling his mantle tight about himself as he did so. His voice floated back to Clawz in a low murmur.

"At least I don't have fleas."

The catamaran's back arched slightly, but he refrained from retorting; the demi-maren's tone had been too bland and dull to carry any real sting, purposely non-challenging. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Finally Jackle turned back to face Clawz, pulling out a deck of cards as he did so and beginning to shuffle them rapidly. It was almost a nervous tick for him. When he was excited, he shuffled cards; when he was disturbed, he shuffled cards; when he was worried, he shuffled cards; when he was thinking, he shuffled cards; when he was energized, he shuffled cards. It seemed as if every other moment he had a deck in his hands. The other High Seekers had gotten used to the almost indistinguishable whir the cards made as he cut and shuffled them; for Clawz, it was as annoying as fingernails screeching across a blackboard. And Jackle knew it. 

The catmaren pulled back his ears and narrowed his eyes, but said nothing; Jackle smirked but also remained silent. Both knew he was wordlessly showing his defiance, and the room waited to see if he'd go the step further. 

He didn't. After a moment he sighed, returned the deck to wherever it had come from with a quick flip of his wrist, and squared his shoulders. "Might as well get it over with."

"Fine," spat Clawz. "But keep your filthy self in back."

Jackle's eyes widened at the mostly unprovoked insult; then he grinned. "Sure. But I'm not responsible for you, understand?"

"What? I---" Pausing, the catmaren decided it wasn't worth it, and instead turned and stalked out.

There was a tangible feeling of relief in the air the moment he was gone. Puffy peered at Jackle from around her book. "Jackle, you really shouldn't---"

"Argue like that?" finished the demi-maren. "Yeah, I know. But that prissy kitty grates my nerves like nothing else. You heard him…" His shoulders drooped slightly. "You heard him insult me."

Puffy paused, unsure as to how to answer; the insult _had_ been a low one. After a moment, Jackle straightened up, petted Gillwing on the neck with a 'See you later, pal', and went out the door, looking as cheerful as someone who is headed to their execution.

Once he was gone, the silence was broken by a low whimper from Gillwing. Puffy looked over at the dragon-looking maren, absentmindedly wondering why he and Jackle got along so well; Gillwing was big, dull, and acted too much like a child or pet to carry on any real conversation with. Yet somehow, Jackle managed to have a decent relationship with him. Jackle was strange.

"I hope the Infirmary has a surplus of bandages and antiseptic," commented Gulpo to the air. "Someone's going to need it, if those two go out on a patrol together." And he ducked back underwater.

Callous as the comment was, Puffy had to agree with him.

Reala rubbed his forehead wearily. "Let's go over this _one more time_."

The young nightmaren all nodded quickly, some nervously shuffling their feet. Reala ignored the desire to snap at them to stop it and continued. 

"Now. When you're flying, the most important thing is control. If you don't keep control of yourself, you'll make a mistake. Perfect and absolute control; that's what you're to strive for. Understand?"

A round of head nodding.

"Good. Now tell me, what were you all trying to do?"

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the dull sound of shuffling feet. Eventually one young maren piped up. "Survive?"

"Survive," Reala repeated.

"Yessir."

Reala turned away, hands clasped behind his back, perfectly-cut fingernails tapping on his other hand's skin gently, coolly, measured. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. "Survive. The one thought on your minds, above all else, driving all you did, could be summed up in that word. Survive."

A round of head nodding again; then, when they realized he couldn't see them, there was a chorus of "yessir"s. 

Reala sighed, mentally asking himself what he'd done to deserve this. _'I never should have given their sparring instructor the duty of teaching them flying lessons. I'm going to have to speak with Luna later.' _He turned back to them and began pacing down the row.

"You say you were trying to survive. I'm not surprised. The desire for survival is in all of us; it's normal, it's instinct. But this is not a normal situation."

He paused half-way down, turning to face them all. "This, children, is a grand and glorious mission, and there is no room for personal desires. Your lone goal is one thing, and one thing only: to help our ruler Wizeman conquer the Waking World. That's what you're training for, and that's what I'm going to see you doing, or else you'll be facing me. Are there any questions?"

There was a mass shaking of heads. Reala nodded, satisfied, and resumed the flying lesson where he'd left off earlier. Already he saw a major improvement in their attitude, although one or two of the boys still joked around while waiting for their turn. He sighed and tried to ignore them.

High above, perched on a windowsill, NiGHTS shook his head. _'That's my brother. Go off into a grand-sounding speech, and then fall back onto your reputation. You're a predictable one, Reala.'_

Still, he had to admit his brother's tactics worked. Already there was a noticeable difference in the maren below; they were focused on winning now, not surviving. They were soldiers.

_'They're children.'_

He felt something in his chest twist a bit, and had to concentrate before he could rid himself of a mental sour taste. Shaking his head distractedly, he slid off the sill and headed for Mystic Forest. He needed to think, and the forest was good for that. 

A scream resounded through the air.

Then another.

Then another.

Another.

And another. 

They were ear-shattering.

And off-tune.

"GEEZ, Clawz, will ya just grab the stupid thing already?"

Clawz screeched to a halt in his enthusiastic chase of a dreamer and glared at the demi-maren. "Who's leading this patrol?"  
"Marvin the Martian."

There was a pause.

"Who?"

"Dunno. I heard some dreamer muttering about it a little while back. Sounds like a band leader."

There was another pause.

Clawz focused back on his chase, only to find that the girl, while he'd been staring at Jackle, had woken up. He turned back to the demi-maren with a snarl. "You let her get away!"

"Correction," replied Jackle mildly. "_You_ let her get away."

Clawz's reply was a cross between a growl and a strangled curse; then, he turned to the group of nightmaren behind him. "Spread out. I want you all within sight of each other, but no closer. We're combing this forest top to bottom. Understand?"

The maren all nodded their heads once, a sharp, synchronized movement. These were not amateurs; they'd all been on patrols before. They knew how to keep on the catmaren's good side.

Apparently, Jackle didn't.

He hadn't actually been rude; he'd just been less than helpful. Clawz had had to mentally restrain himself several times to keep from swiping the demi-maren straight across the face. Thankfully, Jackle seemed content for the moment to keep quiet and float along behind the group, ignoring the glances thrown his way. As the nightmaren spread out, he moved back a step, waiting until they'd started forward before following at an easy glide. He sighed under his breath. Patrolling for dreamers; what an exciting activity.

Jackle and Clawz were the two top choices for patrol leaders; both had an infamous reputation, were quick thinkers, and possessed excellent fighting skills. A pity that patrolling didn't really require any of this. The most they were likely to run into was a dreamer or two, and the thought of a human being even vaguely threatening to a nightmaren was laughable, if not downright insulting. Why Wizeman had ordered _both_ of them to accompany this trip was beyond the demi-maren's comprehension.

There was a burst of noise over to his right, and he jerked his head in that direction, hoping for some action. Ah, yes; a dreamer shot out of the foliage, a maren hot on his tail. Jackle slowed to a halt and watched with an interested eye.

The chase was short-lived; the nightmaren was fast. Within moments the dreamer, a young boy who was probably only ten or eleven, was on the ground and dispossessed of his Ideya: yellow, white, and green. Hope, Purity, and Intelligence. A thinker, then. He'd be a philosopher when he grew up, or something of the sort.

The boy seemed terrified. He cowered on the ground, almost crying. Jackle's sharp ears picked up a whisper from one of the other nightmaren to his neighbor. "I guess we know whether _he's_ got a Courage Ideya."

He chuckled, startling the two nightmaren; when they saw him looking at them and paled, he winked. The two watched silently as he turned away and began shuffling a pack of cards calmly. 

One of them leaned over to whisper in the other's ear. "Good hearing, he's got."

"Yeah. Nice temperament, too. Clawz would've snapped at us."

"Maybe, but at least Clawz is sane."

"You're saying Jackle's not?"

"Maybe he is, but I wouldn't bet anything big on it. He's nice, yes, but then most usually are until they show it later on. Just wait until he has problems in his life, and he'll show."

"If you say so."

"You don't think?"

"Loony, sure. He's the weirdest maren here. But insane? I don't know if I'd go that far."

"_I_ would."

"Yes. _You_ would."

"Yeah, but you didn't hear it from me."

"Hear it? I didn't hear anything."

Both nodding in satisfaction, they parted ways.


	3. Waters Rising

Disclaimer: Be prepared to be astonished, people. This section is going to contain---dun dun duuuuuuun---A DISCLAIMER! *people faint in shock* You have now entered…The Twilight Zone.

Seriously, this will contain an actual quotable disclaimer. In this great land of America where McDonald's has lost millions to lawsuits because their food causes obesity if eaten in large enough amounts or their coffee is hot, a girl can't be too careful. I figured I might as well put a very complete one somewhere among my many works; that way if some idiot ever tries to sue me or, the more probable scenario, someone wants to flame me for using their idea, I can point to this and say I LIKE MASHED POTATOES!! Or something. 

As a side note, yes, this disclaimer IS longer than the chapter itself, but I'll post two chapters to make it up to you. Sorry for the inconvenience; you can go ahead and skip this if you'd like, as it's only here for future reference. Scroll down until you see a lot of italics and you'll find the beginning of the actual chapter.

Anyway, I will now proceed to dis my claims. Or whatever it is you call writing a real disclaimer.

First, the most obvious of them all. The question is _Do I own these characters?_ Because I am writing a real disclaimer, I will refrain from saying something smart-aleck-y here, but really this should be a obvious. However, since this _is_ a real disclaimer, I will state the answer. Any of the characters in any of my stories that first appeared in the game NiGHTS Into Dreams belong to Sega, not me. Darn. Any of the characters that first appeared in my stories DO belong to me. Any others are either from the comic version or another fan's---we'll get into that later.

On to number two. To my knowledge, all plot points in my stories are mine, one hundred percent, so there. These tales represent many gray cells wrung dry of any useful particles whatsoever. In other words, thinking hard.

However, I have read every piece of NiGHTS fan fiction on the net that I know to exist along with about five holjillion other stories about various things including, but not limited to, flying cows, little short people with names that start with V, purple-haired robots with cool attacks, rabid mongooses, singing potatoes, a white-haired goat, and a jumping bean that went to Hollywood; and, while I believe I have not intruded upon my fellow authors' works in any way, it is a possibility that one or two of their phrases or ideas have not gone into my mental file marked "good reads" but rather "worth remembering", bubbled on the backburner for a month or twelve, and then popped back up in my writing. I do not know of any case of this in any of my stories, but then there IS a reason we have other people do a beta reading before posting our stuff. I may not have caught a mistake. So, if you see anything in my works that you believe has been used before, if you bring it to my attention I will be happy to remove it. Please, tell me about any things you think may have been used somewhere else! I'll be very grateful that you did. As long as you don't accuse my entire story line of being stolen. For your information, I just spent the last five flippin' weeks thinking this all up and fine-tuning it, and it is mine, ALL MINE. So cope.

Thirdly. In my works, I use several terms that I did not create: demi-maren, High Seekers, and probably several others that I'm not even aware are fan-creations, but are anyway. Hey, they don't need my permission to be. So I am stating, here and now, that any terms used in my works that weren't created by Sega, but rather a fan somewhere, BELONG TO THAT FAN, AND I DO NOT CLAIM TO HAVE THOUGHT THEM UP. DO NOT SUE. I NO LIKE SUE-IE PEOPLE.

Number four. I do NOT claim to be canon. My version of Nightmare Castle, and everything else in the Dream World, is different than anybody else's---these are my stories, and I rule my dreams. If you're looking for correct fan fiction, you're at the wrong address; you want 6.82, one galaxy across, three doors down. You won't find completely correct stuff here, and I do not claim to be valid for quoting. My facts are not canon. My worlds are not real. My characters are not sane. Their creator isn't, either. I've created practically half of everything I write about, including---cue evil voice---the fan-created characters, and my theories are all mine as far as I'm aware of.

Which brings us to number five. I've probably picked up a theory or idea from some other Nights fans; I can't think of any at the moment, but that doesn't mean I haven't. So I now state, firmly, clearly, and through a bullhorn, ANY NIGHTMAREN THEORY THAT YOU WISH TO QUOTE AS SAID BY SOMEONE ELSE FIRST, GO RIGHT AHEAD. Just tell me about it in a review, please; I may believe that theory or plot point to be my own. For example, the "improvements" scenario, which you will read about later, is my own plot point and idea, and I will fight you tooth, claw, and beak for it. No touchie.

There, as far as I know that's all I could be sued over. I don't wish to fight, and I'm really quite harmless; don't get mad at me, please. Tell me if I've taken someone's idea, or theory, or whatever, and I'll gladly remove it or copyright it or whatever it is they want me to do about it. I'm nice, I don't bite. I'll only engage in fighting if someone's a real jerk, steals some of my stuff, and refuses to give it back. I'm nice, people, nice. Very probably insane, yes, but nice. Got that yet? Good.

There. Disclaimer. Happy?

__

Chapter Three:

Waters Rising

_Blood has been harder to dam back then water._

Just when we think we have it impounded safe

Behind new barrier walls (and let it chafe!),

It breaks away in some new kind of slaughter.

We choose to say it is let loose by the devil;

But power of blood itself releases blood.

It goes by might of being such a flood

Held high at so unnatural a level.

It will have outlet, brave and not so brave.

Weapons of war and implements of peace

Are but the points at which it finds release.

And now it is once more the tidal wave

That when it has swept by, leaves summits stained.

Oh, blood will out. It cannot be contained.

_The Flood, by Robert Frost_

NiGHTS watched as the patrol passed right under his very tree, never even noticing he was there. He _was_ rather good at hiding, he supposed, but still they should have noticed _something_…ah well. It wasn't as if it mattered; just an Ideya lost here or there, but no lasting results.

_'That may change,'_ he reminded himself, stretching out of his cramped position once the passing group was beyond hearing distance. _'After all, we're going to war soon. But wait…is it really war? Wizeman could finish everything faster than we could blink! So it's not war, really. I think…'_

He frowned and put his chin in his hand, staring down through the leaves at the grassy forest floor. _'But he's having us train the younger ones as if they'll be fighting. Are we going to be taking over the humans' world on our own, or is he going to use his powers? I wish I knew what was going on, at least. But then, it's more exciting when you don't know what's around the next bend…_

'Speaking of exciting…I wonder, what will the Waking World look like once we've conquered it? Just like the Dream World, I suppose…still, that'll be kind of boring…'

Oh well. Maybe he'd talk to Wizeman about that. Shrugging, he jumped from his branch and headed off to fill his daily quota of Ideya.

Reala watched as the last nightmaren flew into the barracks, and then turned and headed for his room. He needed a break; training those kids was tiring. He wouldn't have expected it to be, but the idiots needed every other move shown to them at least three times over before they could do it themselves.

_'They're only kids,'_ his more reasonable side reminded.

_'They've also been training for two years now,'_ his personal emotions snapped. _'You'd think they'd at least know a drill-dash! What in the Dream World have they been learning? I'll have to speak to their sparring instructor, as well…'_

Later. Right now he was going straight to his room, where he'd have a drink and relax. Reprimanding could be dealt with later.

_'Still, I can't wait too long. This is an important matter.' _Normally he would have been a bit more lenient with the lack of knowledge in aerial tactics, but they were on a mission now. Taking over the Waking World was going to be the biggest thing they'd ever do---and no one was going to be allowed to mess up. Those children would just have to learn.

The rest of the patrol passed without any unusual incidents, and Clawz and Jackle managed to keep from permanently maiming one another. Once they had returned, Clawz disappeared into his room to clean himself of the dust and burrs he'd gathered while out on patrol, and Jackle headed for the kitchens. He was hungry; that bread and cheese just hadn't been enough.

The kitchens were, as always, busy, but Jackle was a normal visitor and therefore was ignored. He managed to sneak a meat pie that had been cooling, and went on his merry way to his room. True, he was a High Seeker, and as such he could have had the entire kitchen crew up and making a five-course feast within minutes if he'd so desired, but he preferred a small, secret meal. Good chance for him to practice his sleight-of-hand.

He retreated to his balcony to eat his prize. Within several moments of his arriving there AC showed up; the crow seemed to have an uncanny ability to know exactly where the demi-maren was. He hopped onto Jackle's shoulder and made a sound curiously like "please".

"Oh, go along," said Jackle good-naturedly, shooing him away. AC took off, but stopped just out of range and hovered there, flapping, and cawing in protest. Finally Jackle gave in. "Oh, fine. Here."

The crow returned to his perch on the nightmaren's shoulder and accepted the offered bit of meat eagerly. Jackle chuckled and shook his head. "You're such a greedy-guts."

The crow eyed him balefully. He shrugged. "Well, you are."

"Not half as much as you are."

"I'm bigger than he is."

"So?"

"You're weird."

AC continued to pick at his piece of meat calmly, not at all perturbed by the fact that his maren friend was holding a conversation with himself. He _was_ concerned when Jackle gasped out like he'd just been hit in the stomach.

The crow halted his barrage of the meat and eyed him; the demi-maren had stiffened, his muscles tense. AC cawed once, a questioning tone in his call.

Jackle's voice, when he spoke, was strained, as if he were struggling to keep from falling apart. "AC…did you hear that?"

The crow blinked once, bright eyes now shining with a worried glint. He cawed again.

"AC…you heard them, right? Just now, I---" He cut off. He seemed to be listening to something; his head was cocked to the side, his eyes distant, as if he were trying to discern a voice on the wind. A passing breeze ruffled his hair, tossing a few golden locks into his eyes, but he didn't brush them away. For a moment there was silence.

Without warning, AC cawed in the demi-maren's ear; one loud, long cry, the harsh, jarring bray of a crow. Jackle started as if he'd been scared half out of his wits, but his eyes remained distant despite his movement.

Finally, he turned, eyes suddenly focused again; they looked haunted, as if he'd just seen something he wished to forget.

"I heard them again," he whispered.


	4. The Coming Tide

Disclaimer: Can you touch your nose with your tongue? 

AC: What was THAT for? It didn't serve any use.

I thought we'd decided I'm insane.

AC: We have.

Statements made by insane people don't have to make sense. So nyah.

_Chapter Four:_

The Coming Tide

flood tide ~ (flud) [OE flod] n. 1. The incoming tide. 2. A high point: climax.

The door opened without a sound; however the arrival of a visitor didn't go unnoticed. Reala, without looking up from his book, answered in a bored tone. "Yes?"

"Lord Wizeman requests your presence," stammered the hollow at the door, and then turned and dashed off as fast as his wings could carry him. Needless to say, he left a rather surprised nightmaren behind him.

_'What's this all about?' _he wondered, getting up from his chair and turning towards the door. _'And where's that stupid messenger?'_

Apparently the stupid messenger had fled. The doorway was empty. Muttering something about lower-level nightmaren in general, and stupid messengers in particular, the Seeker General moved out the door and headed for Wizeman's throne room. He felt no real apprehension; he'd done well for the day, collected more Ideya than was necessary, and even been pretty patient with those younger nightmaren. Probably their leader just had a few smaller details to run over.

Turning into the circular hallway, he moved along the passage, the wall on his right, the stairs on his left, until he reached the door of Wizeman's throne room. He was just about to go in when someone came tearing out of a room further along the passage; he could hear their door slam. He had just enough time to turn and look towards the origin of the sound quizzically before Jackle flew around the corner, nearly causing a head-on collision. It was only by sheer luck the demi-maren managed to skid to a halt before a minor calamity happened.

He paused, gasped in a breath, bowed, muttered a quick "excuseme", and then went flying down the corridor, moving at only a slightly slower pace. Reala stared after him, his face plainly showing his confusion. _'What in the name of Wizeman was that all about?'_

Sighing, he turned and headed to Wizeman's throne room. That demi-maren was absolutely bonkers some days.

The giant stone doors in front of him were huge and imposing, and any lesser-level would have felt quite a bit of trepidation when entering through them. Reala himself had no such feelings; he did, however, have a good amount of annoyance concerning both Jackle and those younger nightmaren he'd been teaching. He wasn't in the best of moods.

As always, the doors moved open in front of him with but a touch. He'd often marveled at their smooth operation; their hinges were so delicately balanced that the gargantuan stone structures made no noise whatsoever when they moved. At the moment, however, he was too irritated to admire delicate architecture, and so he stomped past them without any thought.

The room itself was larger than anyone who had seen the outside of the castle would at first believe. The dark walls seemed to stretch beyond the limits of sight, fading into distant black---if they were even walls at all. They seemed to be solid, colored a dark, shifting blue with purple and red mixed in at one moment; the next, the colors and shapes had faded and sharpened into nebula and galaxies of stars, swirling in cloudy patterns like a starry sky at night. If you looked directly at them they blurred back into painted stone walls; once you looked away, they again became views of remote plains of space. It was a very humbling wallpaper design.

There was very little else in the room aside from a giant shape, like a moon but dimmer, hanging above what could perhaps be called the center of the room; the walls made it very difficult to gauge distances here. The moon-resembling sphere hung in a silver cage, the metal delicately wrought in intricate shapes and swirls, so fine that they were barely visible against the light. It was a beautiful piece of work, hanging from a single silver chain that ascended up into space until it faded away into black.

One other object occupied the throne room: it's namesake. A regal thing of carved stone, Wizeman's throne was detailed beyond belief, every inch of it's surface covered in some sort of design. The patterns themselves were so small that, from a distance, they were not visible; at the entrance of the room, all the details one could see were the tall, arching back and four heavy feet spread out like a crouching Gao's paws.

Reala, entering what could very well have been mistaken for the center of the universe, stalked up to the throne and gave a low bow without a qualm. His voice rang out strong in the silent room. "You summoned me, and I came, my lord."

"Come closer, Reala." 

Wizeman's voice echoed out through the vast plains of space, not rising above a calm tone and yet somehow stronger and louder than anything else the Seeker General had ever heard. He obeyed, striding across the shir-coated floor up to the very foot of the throne and giving a low bow; then he straightened, and waited.

For a moment Wizeman did not speak, but seemed content to appraise him with several of his eyes; he focused momentarily on the nightmaren's well-manicured nails tapping an impatient beat on his slender arm. There was a momentary pause; finally the ruler's voice echoed out again. "You have begun training the younger nightmaren in the art of flying, as I requested?"

"Yes, my lord." His tone said more than his words.

One of the floating hands came a little closer, the eye in it's palm focusing on his face. "You have encountered some difficultly in performing this task?"

"Of course not, my lord," Reala was hasty to assure him. "I am simply still trying to adjust to the rather wandering minds of the younger generation."

"I see." The eye hadn't moved from his face. "They do not focus as well as you would like on the tasks you give them."

"Yes."

There was another silence. Reala's mouth had tightened into a careful line; he felt as if the blame of their laxness was being placed on his shoulders. If he had been a bit more strict, perhaps…

"Very well." His master's voice cut across his thoughts. "You may go. I wish to see you in ten days, Reala; come ready to give another report."

"Yes, my lord."

The ruler's mouth turned down in a slightly thoughtful frown. "Have Jackle and Clawz returned from their patrol?"

"I don't---" Wait. Who had nearly run over him in the hall? "Yes, they have."

"They are not getting along very well." 

Reala had to struggle to keep from bursting into laughter. Wizeman was all-glorious, but really, one had to wonder where his eyes were sometimes… "Not at all."

"No lasting damage has been done so far."

"No, my lord." He paused, then admitted, "Well, the cooks absolutely refuse to make noodles anymore, but apart from that…"

A rare chuckle broke from Wizeman's lips. "Jackle's doing, no doubt."

"Actually, I believe it was Clawz who was responsible for the ban itself. Jackle was the one who brought the whole thing about."

"Of course." Wizeman's voice became thoughtful again. "He's followed the pattern for some time."

"May I ask what pattern, my lord?"

"His reaction; Clawz as well. Clawz refuses to view it as a problem, but will react violently; Jackle knows it's there and continues anyway, but he remains subtle. I do not believe he has ever gone beyond practical jokes and verbal sparring."

"No, he hasn't," Reala affirmed. "He's had to defend himself once or twice, but he's never been the one to originate any actual violence."

Wizeman seemed to be thinking this over. "He is not often willing to take care of a problem immediately and with firm action."

"No, he isn't."

"He used to be."

"I suppose so," admitted Reala, secretly dismayed at his master's seemingly immaculate knowledge of the High Seekers' personal traits.

"He was," said Wizeman with an air of finality. "What do you suppose brought about the change?"

Reala's mind flew back over the demi-maren's actions of the past years, hoping to come up with something that would satisfy his master. He found nothing. "I'm not sure."

"His spat with Clawz has made him weak."

"Weak?" As far as Reala saw, the whole Clawz/Jackle affair had made the demi-maren more outgoing and loud. Not to mention he was much more interested in practical jokes.

"Less willing to confront someone else. His form has something to do with this?"

"…" commented Reala. Wizeman's knowledge of their personal lives and thoughts was absolutely disconcerting. "I suppose it does."

"It does." He paused, thinking again. "When you come next time, bring Jackle with you."

"Yes, my lord." _'Why would Wizeman want Jackle as well?'_

"That is all, Reala. You may go."

The Seeker General bowed, turned, and flew out, a new respect of his master's observation abilities planted firmly in his mind.

Gillwing raised his head lazily, cocking it to one side as the knock rang out again. "Come in," he boomed.

The door to his room swung open and Jackle flew through, looking slightly ragged as if he'd just run a race. He alighted easily on one of the rocks overhanging the nightmaren's cave-like bed, knowing exactly where to sit from years of experience. "Hey, Gillwing."

The dragon-like nightmaren sat up, scratching his side with his tail and watching Jackle swing his legs back and forth in nervous time. "What's wrong, Jackle?"

Jackle started, then sighed; Gillwing knew him well enough to read his non-verbals without even realizing he was doing so. "Just---edgy. I wanted to be with someone."

"Well, now you're with someone," replied Gillwing, settling down into a comfortable position on his rocky bed. He scratched at his side again, tried a third time, and snorted in annoyance when he still couldn't reach the exact spot behind his left wing. Finally he gave a deep sigh, giant sides expanding with the leviathan breath, and endured it.

A smile came to Jackle's face. "Lemme try, mister."

He jumped off his perch, landing skillfully on the giant creature's slippery skin without a falter, and swung his feet over the side. He began scratching the spot, moving around until Gillwing gave a sigh to indicate he'd found the problem, and then began scratching harder. Eventually he spoke. "So, how're things going?"

"Fine," replied Gillwing, eyes closed. 

Inwardly Jackle grinned. Gillwing would say things were fine even if the sky had just collapsed. He was a very simple nightmaren.

"You doing anything today?"

"Nope." He wiggled one wing, asking for a scratch a little further down. Jackle obliged. "Are you?"

"No, I'm finished for the day."

"Ah." He gave a small, satisfied sigh, signifying that he no longer had an itch; surprisingly, Jackle didn't notice his gesture. He waited for a moment, then finally opened his eyes and nudged the demi-maren's hand with his wing. Jackle started, then stopped scratching; however, he didn't dismount, but staid where he was, staring at the walls with nervous eyes. Gillwing settled down further, realizing that the demi-maren needed to talk. He searched for something to say. "What'd you do?"

The demi-maren sighed. "Went out with Clawz on a patrol, remember?"

"Oh yeah. How did it go?" Gillwing may have been good at reading his friend's moods, but he wasn't known for his brains. Or tact.

Jackle sighed again, and began swinging his feet absent-mindedly. "Not so good. You know, normal day."

"What went wrong?"

"Nothing, really. But you know how we don't get along."

"You argued?"

"Not really argued. He acted all high-bearing and stuff and had me stay in the back, I teased him, he growled at me, I snapped back, he ordered me around, I made him look like a fool in front of all the patrollers, he nearly attacked me, and we went home."

"Oh."

"You know. Normal day."

"Yeah." There was a moment of silence; finally Gillwing blinked. "Can you stop kicking me?"

"Oh, come on," teased Jackle, drumming his heels deeper into the maren's side. "You know it doesn't hurt, Ironsides."

"Hey!" protested Gillwing good-naturedly. "I've got hard skin, but it's not _metal_! Watch it!"

"You that sensitive?" laughed Jackle, thumping one more furious tattoo before breaking off. He chuckled and rubbed Gillwing's spine fondly. "You know I'm just joking, don't you?"

" 'Course I do," said Gillwing comfortably. "You're nice, Jackle."

The demi-maren sighed and looked down. "Try telling that one to Clawz."

Gillwing blinked. "He wouldn't listen?"

Jackle sighed again. Dim as a broken light bulb. "No, he'd listen, he just wouldn't agree. I meant it'd be hard to convince him that."

"Oh." Not quite sure he'd understood the nightmaren's relaxed English, Gillwing nodded anyway. After a moment of friendly silence he spoke again. "So why'd you come in?"

Jackle's answer was guardedly non-committal. "Oh, I don't know. I just wanted to talk."

"Oh. Okay. So what do you want to talk about?"

"Um…I dunno. Just…y'know…talk."

"Okay. What're you doing tomorrow?"

"Probably just Ideya collecting. What're you doing?"

"Collecting Ideya."

"Oh." He looked up. "You ever get the feeling that we're not going anywhere?"

"Huh?" The big nightmaren looked back down at him with utter confusion on his face. "But we're sitting still, Jackle."

"No, I mean…hang on." He put a hand to his forehead, silently composing himself. _'Don't laugh, Jackle, don't laugh…' _"Okay. I meant, you ever get the feeling like nothing we do matters? We're just getting Ideya, dream in and dream out, to add a few more little balls of dream energy to the pile that's probably already as big as Frozen Bell." He paused. "There's a thought. Where's the dream energy go once we give it to Wizeman? He takes it, and we see it kind of fade away into sparkly stuff, and then it's gone. Where's it all go?"

"Inside him?" guessed Gillwing. 

Jackle paused to contemplate that; then he shook his head. "Naw. Then his dream energy would have gotten huge, right? We would have felt this major surge of electricity from him…but then, I guess it would happen over hundreds of years, so we wouldn't notice it, really…Has he gotten more powerful?"

Gillwing thought over the matter, a process which usually took him some time. "I don't think so," was his final verdict.

"No, I don't think so either. As far as I can remember he's always been the same…" He grinned and drummed into Gillwing's sides again. "Just like you---he don't change, right, old faithful?"

Gillwing shifted slightly, peering down at him with a look of long-suffering. "Not again."

"Yup," said Jackle cheerfully, giving him one more quick succession of taps for good measure. He slowed, about to stop, then gave a cry as Gillwing rolled over completely, effectively dumping him onto the floor. "Hey!"

A chuckle came from above his head. "You deserved it."

"True," admitted Jackle, getting up from the ground and brushing himself off. He climbed back up to his perch on Gillwing's back. Once he was settled comfortably, he patted the nightmare's tough hide gently. "You're a good sport, Gillwing."

"I have to be," replied Gillwing cheerfully. "I put up with you."

Jackle threw back his head and laughed. "One for the other guy! Okay, so I'm annoying sometimes."

"Not all the time," Gillwing assured him. "You're just weird some days."

"Weird?" Jackle drew himself up to his full sitting height. "I take that as a personal insult. I'm not weird---I'm insane."

Gillwing was chuckling, a great rolling laugh of sound, and thusly didn't notice the demi-maren freeze and a glare of haunting remembrance come suddenly to his eyes. Just as quickly, it was gone, and he joined his friend's laughter. Had Gillwing listened to him a bit more carefully, though, he might have heard a slight hitch in the demi-maren's voice.

Puffy looked up as Clawz stalked through the door. "You're back already?"

Clawz grumbled something indecipherable and plopped down in a cushioned chair. It was his favorite; the red velvet was very comfortable. 

Gulpo and Puffy exchanged knowing glances. For a moment, Puffy swayed between staying silent and going on dangerous ground; the fact that it had been a quiet day appealed to her more evil side. "How'd it go?"

Gulpo smirked at her appreciatively. He couldn't have dropped a more volatile question himself.

"Need you ask?" spat Clawz. "That idiot was even more moronic than usual."

"No wonder," murmured Puffy, thinking back to the "proper body" remark. She raised her voice. "So Jackle was acting up?"

"Of course he was. He treated the entire thing like a joke. I couldn't get him to shut up."

"Odd," remarked Gulpo to the ceiling. "Jackle's not known to be extremely talkative."

"You know what I mean," growled Clawz. "Everything he said was meant to tick me off."

"What'd you do?" queried Puffy. 

"Ignored him. Why should I be bothered by his brainless chatter?"

"I'm sure you handled it very maturely," assured Puffy demurely.

Clawz opened his mouth to reply, then looked at the two innocent faces turned towards him; snarling something under his breath, he rolled off his chair and stalked away to find a less sarcastic audience.

Once the catmaren was gone, Puffy and Gulpo burst into a fit of snickers. Those two were absolutely classic.

Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth, NiGHTS swung his legs.

Faster. Back forth back forth back forth.

Faster. Backforthbackforthbackforth.

Ow. He stopped and winced as his knee popped. Forgot to stretch after that row of cartwheels.

Then he began again. Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth.

His mind was as busy as his feet. Currently, almost three fourths of the Minions were out searching for Ideya, despite the fact that it was only an hour or so to dreamfall; more than he had seen out in a long time. Personally, NiGHTS wasn't intensifying his search; he saw no reason to. If they hadn't found a Red Ideya after this long, why did everyone seem to think they'd up and find one now just by hastening their efforts? Besides, he wasn't sure if merging the two worlds was a good ambition at all. Judging from the snatches he'd seen of the Waking World, it looked awfully exciting. But once Wizeman ruled over it, wouldn't it just become another nightmare? Where was the fun in that?

_"Wizeman knows best,'_ he decided for the third time that day.

Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth.

_'I think.'_

Back forth back forth back forth.

_'Maybe…'_

Backforthbackforthbackforth.

_'It just doesn't sound fun…What if he's wrong?'_

Backfor---Stop.

_'Where in the dream world did that thought come from?!'_

Stillness.

_'I can't believe I thought that. Of course Wizeman's right.' _

He began swinging his legs again.

Back, forth. Back, forth. Back, forth.


	5. On The Bank Of The Tumid River

Okay, author's note time! Gather 'round, chillins, an' we'll git ourselves a reg'lar hoe-down a'goin.

Actually, I lived in South Carolina for two years, and none of my neighbors spoke in that manner. They did pronounce my name wrong no matter how many times I corrected them, but they didn't talk like that.

Anyway, the author's note. This time, I'm speaking on fan-character names. 

*gets shoved off her soapbox by a bunch of reviewers yelling "JUST GET ON WITH THE STORY ALREADY!!"*

*stubbornly climbs back on*

Ahem. This is my author's note space, so if you don't want to listen to my babbling, and I don't blame you at all, then simply skip down a couple of paragraphs and you'll come to the story. Meanwhile, I will continue to babble. *tries to order her now-shaken thoughts*

Okay, as I said, this is about names. It's more of an explanatory thing than an author's note, really, but whatever. You might want to read this if you're interested in nightmaren names. Let me continue already.

Below is a list of names and word origins. Some of the maren listed below you may already know; some you may meet soon; some may come on the scene much later; some may never be used at all, and you'll have wasted your time reading about them. Sorry. 

*ahem* First off: "corbeau black" is a type of---duh-uuur---black. Ergo Corbeau: named after black.

_Post meridiem_ is the Latin term for the hours after noon, normally referred to as PM. Postmeridian is an adjective describing an afternoonic state, if there is such a thing; don't look at me, it's in the dictionary. Postmeridian: named after the later hours of the day.

Nyct is a prefix meaning night-related. Nyct: related to night.

Vespers is a traditional name for a prayer said in the evening; if you're a poetry buff, you'll probably know the poem by A. A. Milne entitled this. If you don't, I suggest you go and get one of his books of poetry out of the library right now. He's a very good writer. Vespers: evening prayers.

_Hadrian_ is Latin for dark. At least, I hope so; I'm going by the word of a baby name book. I'll probably meet a person fluent in Latin in the future, ask them what "Hadrian" means, and find out that it means pickled codfish, but let's think positive, shall we? So Hadrian: dark.

Insomnia is obvious. For you younger or less-vocabulary-orientated people, insomnia is a sickness in which the subject cannot fall asleep. Cool name for a nightmare creature, I think. Insomnia: sleeplessness.

Luna is another obvious one; I believe it's Latin for moon. Or maybe it's Spanish. Or French. Heck, it could be Swahili for all I know. It's moon in another language, that's all I can tell you. Cope. Luna: moon.

Aniline is another type of black. I like naming things after their colors, okay? For example, Hyacinth, Heliotrope, and Terre-Verte wear blue, purple, and green, respectively. But I'll introduce them later, if at all. Aniline: black.

Wesh is a gypsy name, and it means woods. This is an unsure-if-I'll-use-this name, as it's not directly related to dark and night and sorrow and despair and all that other good nightmare stuff, but it's good to have it in here anyway. Besides, Clawz isn't a dark name, and Puffy isn't even something I'd deign to call a name at all. Wesh: woods.

Jal is another gypsy title; it means wanderer. Jal: wanderer.

Wyth is---guess what? Gypsy name. Wyth: willow tree.

Tas is---yeah. Tas: bird's nest.

Nigel is Latin. Like Hadrian, I can't tell you I know for certain this is it's true translation; this one is another baby name book name, and I don't completely trust those things ever since I read in one of them that my name meant "brave maiden". It doesn't. Nigel: dark night.

Rune is German; I know German fairly well, so I can tell you for certain this is a true translation. Rune: secret.

Tynan is Irish. I seem to like foreign names as opposed to American, don't I? Well, can you imagine a nightmaren named Billy Bob? Tynan: dark.

This one's pretty, in my opinion. And Latin. Vere: truth.

Amaya is Japanese; I had a friend check this one out a while ago, so it's good. No baby name book involved here. Amaya: night rain. 

Are you ready for another Latin name? No? Good. Adrienne: dark. (For the record, an alternate spelling is _Hadriane_. Guess where you've seen that before.)

Leila has a double meaning. In Hebrew, Leila means dark beauty or night. In Arabic, it means born at night; fitting, since all nightmaren were created by Wizeman, and he's the lord of nightmares. So Leila: dark beauty, night, born at night.

Ashlyn is another Irish one. I can't help picking an Irish name or two. I have some Irish blood in me; I guess it's trying to come out in my writing. Ashlyn: vision or dream.

Okay, I'm done. *evaluates list thoughtfully* You think it's long enough? *snickers* Sorry, I couldn't help myself.

As a last note…I use Avis the Crow as my online name. Avis means bird in Latin. You probably didn't care, but then you probably didn't know either. Now you know.

Disclaimer: Don'cha just HATE it when you step on a piece of cooked rice while wearing socks? It's like impossible to get out...it's just this starchy goo, and it gets all stuck in the thread like a blob of Elmer's glue or something...

Bass: ...getmeouttahere.

_Chapter Five:_

On The Bank Of The Tumid River

_Eyes I dare not meet in dreams_

In death's dream kingdom

These do not appear:

There the eyes are

Sunlight on a broken column

There, is a tree swinging

And voices are

In the wind's singing

More distant and more solemn

Than a fading star...

In this last of meeting places

We grope together 

And avoid speech

Gathered on this beach of the tumid river...

_The Hollow Men, by T. S. Eliot_

Insomnia was on a carefree cruise about Nightmare Castle. He was just coming past the east side when, to his left, he heard the sound of a door opening. He banked, hoping to see who had come up on the ramparts.

A whistle shrilled through the air, and he realized that it had been Jackle's door that had opened; the demi-maren himself stood on his balcony, arm held up to the sky, head turned upward as if waiting for something. His whistle was explained a moment later, when a large crow alighted on his yellow-clad wrist. He grinned, head cocked fondly to one side, and began speaking to it.

Insomnia, remembering the outcome of the earlier conversation between the two, decided to go the other way.

The nightmaren were bedding down for the evening. The barracks were full of noise and murmurings, which wasn't that unusual, but the fact that Wizeman had publicized his plan of taking over the Waking World only four mornings ago added more than slightly to the general feeling of confusion and excitement. The older generations were all calm and speaking in low voices, as usual, but the larger amount of nightmaren were young, and thusly more excitable and loud. The boys especially.

One of the young maren was currently boasting of exploits to come in the campaign against the Waking World. "Once I've gotten my sword, I'll be a match for ten armed humans." 

"I'm a pretty fair hand with a bow," mused another. "D'you think that'll be useful?"

"Useful, sure---but practical?" cut in a girl. "A simple drill-dash'd be a lot easier---and you don't have to carry around all those heavy arrows and bows and things."

"A bow isn't heavy," defended the archer-to-be mildly. "And arrows are light as a feather."

"You all can _keep_ your arrows and swords," stated another young female, coming in to the conversation with some interest. "But give me a pike, like what _Miss Luna _carries."

"A pike like Miss Luna's?" laughed the originator of the subject. "You'd fall over. Have you seen how long that thing is?"

"I could carry one," defended the girl a bit testily. "They're long, but _light_."

"Like a bow and arrows," submitted the archer helpfully. His input was ignored.

"I want a sword," decided a boy from two bunks down. "They're the easiest for skirmishes and hand-to-hand fighting."

"Axes are cool," said Insomnia, bounding onto his bunk just to get a lift out of the resulting bounce or two. He was hailed by several different voices.

"Yo, Som, where you been?"

"We were wondering…"

"Nice timing, Som."

"Out flying again?"

"Yeah," he admitted, rolling over and crossing his legs Indian-style, propping his chin up on his palms. "So we're talking about weapons?"

"Yeah. _I_ say the pike rules, but _some people_ just don't seem to see things my way."

"Which isn't a crime," added the boy interested in bows. Insomnia gave him an amused glance.

"Always the peacemaker, huh, PM?"

Postmeridian flushed. Apart from his obsession with the subject of archery, he was a very quiet boy who did not like attention. 

The girl who loved pikes and italics shrugged. "We all know what _he'd_ like---"

At least seven nightmaren chorused the answer. "A bow."

PM flushed deeper; fortunately, public interest soon tired of him and went back to the original subject of conversation.

"I don't know," continued the girl who'd first questioned the practicality of archery. "I think a drill dash is the best."

"What if you're fighting a stone creature?" queried one of the others, grinning.

"You'd have a whopping headache," supplied another. 

The girl glared at the laughing youths around her, but then rather ruefully joined in the merriment at her expense. "I suppose that would be a kind of awkward position," she admitted. "But then, if you were fighting a golem I doubt a sword would do you much good either."

"Would anything?" replied Insomnia.

"I don't know," she mused, looking off into space---or rather, the ceiling---thoughtfully. "I suppose a really good fire could destroy one…"

"And who carries around a fire that reaches two thousand degrees?" challenged the one who'd started the whole thing. "Face it, Nyct, nothing could kill a golem."

"Actually, I doubt that's something you have to worry about," cut in a voice above their heads. The young maren all looked up to find their sparring instructor, Miss Luna, standing over them. Her face showed no signs of annoyance, but then she wasn't smiling either. "Since there haven't been any in the dream world for years. Be glad. And even if their were, and you were on the verge of finding some way to defeat them easily, it wouldn't get you out of the fact that lights-out was twenty minutes ago."

The nightmaren looked around to find that the rest of the barracks had already bedded down, and they all sank an inch or two lower. Several mumbled an embarrassed "sorry".

"We didn't realize, Miss Luna," stammered Postmeridian. "We're so sorry---"

The older nightmare's face crinkled into a smile, only a few wrinkles around her eyes showing her true age. "Don't worry about it. But I'd go to sleep, if I were you. Y'never know when Lord Reala might come around and inspect the---"

But she was talking to the air. Every maren had ducked down under their covers at the mention of Lord Reala's name, and was currently snoring away loudly.

She chuckled and turned away. "Bright kids."

Reala started as a purple form swung itself up over his windowsill and landed in the middle of his bedroom floor; as it straightened up into the form of his brother NiGHTS, he relaxed. Not willing to show he'd been surprised, he put a gruff edge to his voice. "What is it?"

"Oh, you know, the usual---just wanted to talk," said NiGHTS airily, waving his brother off with a hand ala his usual carefree attitude. Reala scowled.

"I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow, NiGHTS, and I don't need to waste my sleeping time with useless chatter."

NiGHTS looked over at his brother, startled. "What's with you?"

"I told you, I'm busy," sighed Reala.

NiGHTS shook off the protest of weariness and plopped down on his brother's bed, kicking his heels up in a carefully easy-minded manner. He looked away from his brother and up at the ceiling as he spoke. "So, how did you sleep, say, three nights ago?"

Reala started for the second time within five minutes. After a second he calmed himself, and looked at his brother out of the corner of his bright blue eyes. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

"Sure," muttered Reala. "And I'm a monkey's uncle." 

"You are? Why, Reala, you should have told me," teased NiGHTS. Just as suddenly his mood shifted again. "So you didn't have any, say, weird dreams?"

Reala straightened and stared at his brother. "Why are you asking me this?"

"You did?" NiGHTS seemed relieved. "Oh, good. I was hoping I wasn't just loosing my mind or something equally uncomfortable…" 

"What are you talking about?" snapped Reala. "Who said I did? Why are you asking me?"

"Come on, Reals, I can read you like an open book," said NiGHTS, waving his flurried questions away unperturbedly. "I wanted to know 'cause I had one, too."

The Seeker General forced himself to calm down. NiGHTS could be so horribly aggravating sometimes… "What was your dream like?"

"What about yours?" countered his brother. 

"You first," insisted Reala, part of his mind noting how he seemed to slip so quickly into colloquial when around his brother. "I mean, explain yourself."

"Well, there was the living shadow---"

" 'Living shadow'?"

"Yeah, but that was after the morphing room and running into a valley and that stream…"

"So I take it you didn't dream about the bottles," muttered Reala.

NiGHTS blinked. "Bottles?"

Reala shook his head. "Nothing."

"Oooookay. Nothing about bottles…sure. Anyway, you had a weird dream too."

Reala shrugged again and looked back down at his book. "And you find this interesting?"

"Come on, Reala, no nightmaren's ever had a dream. Duuuu-uuur."

He glared at his immature brother over the page. "I assume you had a reason for coming here besides doing a fairly good impression of a seven-year-old?"

NiGHTS started. His brother was never _this_ peevish. "Geez, Wizeman really got to you today, didn't he?"

"Will you just spit out whatever it is you wanted to say and leave?" snarled Reala, startling even himself with his ferocity. He halted, suddenly feeling guilty, his self-reproach heightened by his brother's astonished expression; dignity dictated he not apologize, but he struggled with the resulting guilt complex for a moment before giving in to honor.

"You wanted something?" he questioned, almost unknowingly trying appease his guilty side by using a far quieter tone.

NiGHTS just looked at him for a moment; then, he shook his head. "No," he said softly. "Just came in to say goodnight." 

Without further ado he got up and left. Reala stared after his brother, feeling more than a bit ashamed. Eventually he returned to his book; however, it took him a few minutes to shake off the queer feeling of disturbance that had settled on him along with his guilt.

NiGHTS stared up at the ceiling of his room, his heart weighted with an unknown apprehension. Reala had seemed so angry and annoyed tonight; not that this wasn't normal, but before there had always been an underlying fondness in his eyes. Tonight that brotherly love was strangely muted.

NiGHTS shivered and rolled over, burying his head in his arm. He had the feeling something wasn't right.

Jackle stared upwards, eyes tracing the spade-and-diamond pattern painted boldly on his ceiling. The blacks and reds were dim in the moonlight, and the bright yellow background looked like a deep grey. Moonbeams stretched across the entire ceiling in sharp streaks.

He rolled over, shooting a glance to where his mantle hung, limp and lifeless in the moonlight. A slight wind blew in through the window, a leftover breeze from the changing winds, and stirred the cloth; just as soon it dissipated, and the cloak hung straight once again. There was a peculiar air of defeat about it, as if it's owner had died long ago and it was left to hang, gathering dust and old memories, a broken reminder of it's long-gone master.

Jackle started and shook his head once, dusty golden hair tumbling about his ears. Since when was he so morbidly poetic? Must be the stress was getting to him… He shook his head again. Ever since Wizeman had declared his scheme all of the High Seekers had been a bit on edge. Clawz and Jackle, especially---new conquests meant new ways to get recognition in the eyes of their master, which meant new quarrels over to whom that recognition should go. NiGHTS and Reala held their sovereign's highest levels of fondness, but someone else could undoubtedly be the second fiddle; and playing second fiddle, though not the most prestigious of posts, is a very esteemed position nonetheless. The two second-levels both believed themselves to be the one most deserving of it.

Jackle's gaze returned to the ceiling, and the stark light trailing across it. Not only was he worried about position, but then there was the more disturbing matter of hearing voices when one should not. 

It had been what…three…four days since he'd last heard them? Up until then he'd only been aware of their presence in dreams; dreams which he wasn't supposed to have. But he'd just chalked that up to being created different than the others, a second-level, a bodiless being, a partly invisible creature. 

_'Imperfect.'_

He shook his head violently. No, he wouldn't believe it! Despite the rumors and claims otherwise, he wouldn't believe it. Clawz could go and hang himself; he wouldn't admit that he was worth less than any other nightmaren. Master had created him this way---it was the way he was meant to be, right?

Firmly pushing the subject of self-worth into some deep corner of his mind, he went back to pondering the voices in a reasonable manner. He'd heard them in dreams for at least two months; then there had been that event of hearing them in the morning, right after Wizeman's announcement. For three days afterwards they'd left him alone, and he'd thought he was free. Then they'd come back.

Jackle shivered and slid further down into the blankets. This was getting frightening; he didn't want to have these mental problems, didn't know what to think of them. He was a very care-free person, and one who did not trim his performance to fit the standard expectations, but he wasn't insane.

Of course, no one ever said this was unalterable fact.


	6. The Storm Draws Near

~AN~ Because this story is finally getting exciting, there is no author's note so you can get right to the good stuff. Get happy.

Disclaimer: **** ******* ** *** **'* ****** **. **** ***** **** ** *********!

**: **** *** **** *** *** *****?

* ***'* ****. ***** **** *** ** *** ****-----******!

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{Due to standard regulations of the Insanity Police, the above message has undergone censoring}

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Chapter Six:

The Storm Draws Near

_Whisper of wind,_

Tell me true---

What is it that so

Frightens you?

The rain is a gift

From the heavens above---

Why is it you fear

The cloud's shower of love?

You may not be hurt

By the showers of rain.

Often you feel numbness

Before the pain.

Time passes differently on the plains of Nightopia than it does in the real world; however, it does indeed pass. And it passed very quickly for the followers of Wizeman, as days became filled with training sessions, scouting patrols, and more training sessions. Wizeman seemed to be unsure of his soldiers' strength, and whatever semblance of power they'd shown before was to be bolstered up as quickly as possible. The younger generation was quickly formed into sectors and divisions. Weaponry, long seen as unneeded in a world where the only opposing being you'd come up against was either a Nightopian or a human, was again important, and the blacksmithy rang with the blows of hammer on anvil at all hours. Postmeridian got to begin serious practice with his bow.

While the fighting ranks were generally excited and hopeful, the higher powers' feelings were less positive. Clawz and Jackle were still vying for the top spot right underneath NiGHTS and Reala; Puffy was less than excited about beginning a long, fighting-filled campaign; Gulpo was annoyed with all the training going on, as he was expected to leave his peaceful lagoon to do a fair share of the water-creatures' training; Reala was becoming more brusque and moody as he centered all of his attention upon the battles ahead; NiGHTS was currently worried about the changes he saw happening in his friends and all about him. Wizeman himself was, as always, calm and serene above the rabble; however, several of the High Seekers, answering his summons for the weekly report, thought they detected a slight amount of increased scrutiny in their comments. NiGHTS and Jackle, the most observant of the six, were convinced he was forming a new brainchild.

However, despite rulers' plotting, leaders' infighting, brothers' worrying, and demi-maren's mental problems, life went on. The winds continued to change for some time; seven days after Wizeman's declaration they slowed, quieted, and finally halted altogether. Clouds that had formerly blown across the horizon in skidding clumps now stretched motionlessly over the skies, not actually bringing rain but rather gathering in low curtains and remaining a threatening grey. And two more days passed without incident.

It was on the tenth day that things began happening. Seeds that had been planted in the past, from just a week ago to centuries before, were watered by the rain that heralded a coming storm. 

Reala was in the training rooms when he remembered the summons.

Ever since his little talk with Wizeman, when his ineptness concerning training had come up, he'd become a different creature. He spent all his waking hours hard at work, training the young ones, practicing his swordsmanship, toning his muscles, overseeing plans. He walked about with a preoccupied air, his steps quick and determined; his eyes, once a bright forget-me-not blue, had hardened into bright beryls, sharp blue stones of focus instead of living pools of emotion. Were it not for his slender build and thin, delicately-formed face, simply seeing him walk by could have been frightening. As it was the younger nightmaren cleared the hallways when he came through.

They had good reason to; Reala had taken over several of the training leader positions, and for the classes he hadn't he was firmly involved in the choosing of tutors. Quite a few nightmaren were replaced in favor of more violent, strict educators. Miss Luna, the sparring instructor, had remained, but was firmly lectured on the subject of authoritarian composure and harshness. Had Reala heard the 'humph' she gave once he turned away, he might have had second thoughts about her validity as a trainer, but he didn't.

It was during the middle of a flying lesson that he recalled his appointment with Wizeman. Silently cursing, he waved the current flyer down and nodded once.

"Well done," he said, without showing any emotion. "I have another engagement I must attend to; you are all free until your next class."

The nightmaren all stared at him for a moment, gauging his statement; then, when they saw he wasn't about to instantly retract his words, they took off as fast as they could. Free time wasn't to be had for free despite it's name, after all.

Ignoring the miniature jubilee now being celebrated behind him, Reala turned and stalked out.

Jackle looked up from the cards he was sorting when his name rang out from the door. Reala stood in the entryway of the Great Hall, looking, as was becoming usual, very impatient.

The demi-maren folded his fan of cards into a solid deck, and began sliding them back into their protective covering; he started at Reala's cough from behind him and quickly slipped the whole thing up his sleeve, pushing his chair out and hurrying after the leaving Seeker General. Originally, Reala wouldn't have minded Jackle taking his time, but now the nightmaren was so temperamental he didn't dare. 

Flitting along the dim hallways, following Reala's firm stride with his peculiar hop-skip-float-skim, Jackle mused on the change that had affected not only the Seeker General but all of Nightmare Castle. Ever since Wizeman's declaration of his plot, it seemed everyone had become high-strung, the High Seekers especially; and after more than a week of volatile atmosphere and moody leaders, the entire castle's population was becoming edgy. Walking into a room you could almost feel the uneasiness in the air.

The demi-maren himself was highly intelligent; however, he was also very mentally unstable. Reala was pretty confident a few good mental shocks would unbalance him completely. As it was, with the tense environment and new challenges facing him, and the recent attack on his worth, he felt more insecure than usual; with the added weight of the strange voices he'd been hearing throbbing in the back of his consciousness like a blister, he was in a very unsteady state of mind. 

This weakening of his mental power also impaired his courage, and for a little while he was too timid to ask the moody nightmaren in front of him the reason for their little walk. Gradually he worked up the nerve to do so. "Where are we going?" 

"Wizeman's throne room," was the curt reply.

Jackle's heart gave a small jump at the name, but he retained a calm expression. "Why?"

"He wanted us to."

The demi-maren waited patiently for an expounding on the subject, but none was forthcoming. Eventually he spoke again. "Wonder what he wants."

"I don't know," muttered Reala, in an end-of-conversation tone. But Jackle, once he got himself going, was surprisingly hard to stop. 

"When'd he call for us? I don't remember him giving a summons…"

"Last time he spoke to me." His voice was taking on a very thin edge.

"Which was?"

"None of your business!" snarled Reala, whirling around and giving Jackle a fierce glare. The demi-maren started and pulled back. He stared at the Seeker General's eyes in fearful fascination; they were hard, harder than he'd ever seen them before, and he could almost believe they'd gotten lighter in color. 

After a very long second of silent stare-down, he reverted back to his normal chatty self. "Shuttingup."

"Good." And he turned away and strode down the hall.

After a moment, Jackle resumed his flitting, bounding gently off the floor to float a few feet before touching down again. He followed Reala silently, wondering vaguely whether this sudden change in the Seeker General's personality was permanent. If it was, then every nightmaren alive was in trouble.

Wizeman was busy.

He wasn't busy with just any old undertaking, either; he was busy creating. And creating was a difficult task, so he was concentrating deeply.

Contrary to the beliefs of most of the Nightmare Castle population, Wizeman could not create things out of nothing. He couldn't create _anything_ out of nothing. He needed something to work with. Fortunately for him, the dream world was just what it was---the dream world. And as thus it boasted endless sculpting mediums.

He used dream energy for his clay, and the dream world was filled with practically nothing else. Dreamers, exploring Nightopia, had the power to change the surroundings slightly; the landscape morphed to vaguely resemble their favorite place, and their nightmares were frighteningly familiar shapes. A dreamer walking by often heralded a scenery change; not a serious transformation, but a slight warping of the current state of things, brought about by a subconscious thought the dreamer was often not even aware of. Such is the power of the dreamers.

Wizeman wielded such power, but to an infinitely greater degree. He possessed the ability to mold dream energy into any shape he desired; such was the way he created nightmaren, and his faithful legions of Minions. The only thing he did not control was the amount of energy available, and it was because of this he desired the massive strength of the Red Ideya; an immense power source for an immense undertaking.

For all typical purposes, however, he needed no more energy than was in the air about him, and it was this particular energy which he was currently molding into another creation: an inanimate one, only half--formed, but resembling a silver cage. And, as was stated before, creating was a difficult task, and he was concentrating.

This concentration was very abruptly brought to a halt when a thunderous bang echoed through the room, reverberating across the empyrean walls and making the galaxies waver. 

Wizeman was broken out of his focus, and for a moment his expression revealed annoyance before he regained his usual languor. Lately it seemed he'd been slipping into showing his expressions more easily; doubtless just a temporary side effect of working on so many different projects. No doubt he'd regain his focus once things were up and running smoothly.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he returned to his task of creating a suitable enclosure. 

The general shape had already been decided and formed, and all that remained was to smooth out the edges. Soon he was done, and he leaned back to admire the cage he'd created.

All was ready.

Jackle looked up at his leader questioningly. "Why's he not answering?"

"You think I know?" Reala answered between his teeth, still feeling some leftover annoyance with the demi-maren from earlier. 

"Maybe he's asleep," suggested Jackle before remembering who it was he was speaking about, then sank down under the absolutely scornful look shot at him. Inwardly, he felt a slight resentment. _'Okay, so that wasn't my brightest statement. Who said he was the intelligence judge?'_

Reala, to his surprise, saw a feeble spark of umbrage light in the demi-maren's eyes. He blinked once, but the look wasn't gone. A second-level---feeling bitterness towards him for snapping out? That was new. Sure, the High Seekers showed annoyance when he was snippish and moody, but real resentment wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't thought Jackle was even capable of retaining such a feeling towards him.

He blinked again, as if to clear his thoughts, and turned back to the door feeling a slight amount of guilt and a larger portion of annoyance. _'This mission to take over the Waking World is affecting them all negatively. Even I'm feeling more peevish than usual…but really, the High Seekers are all letting this get to them far more than they should. Weaklings. And if Clawz and Jackle don't stop fighting, I'm going to maim one of them…'_

A small part of his mind mentioned the fact that this much aggression was a new addition to his psyche, but Reala had had enough soul-searching for the past couple of days. Reaching up, he knocked at the great stone doors again, knuckles rapping the wooden plate set in the stone for this reason. Faintly, the two nightmaren could hear the echo rebound and slowly fade inside.

This time, a voice boomed out in answer. "Enter."

A bit startled by the authority so clear in their master's voice, the two did as told. Reala pushed open the doors and stepped in, Jackle flitting close behind.

Wizeman looked down at the two figures and gestured with one giant hand. "Come closer."

They did so, crossing the shining floor to the very foot of the throne. Six hands hovered low about them, as if measuring them for something. Reala straightened slightly; Jackle floated just behind and to his left, peering over the Seeker General's shoulder at the giant eyes all looking back at him. Wizeman detected a small flash of fear in the demi-maren's eyes. Reala, if he felt any such trepidation, did not show it.

Finally their master's voice rang out across the silent room. "The training with the younger nightmaren is going well?"

Reala nodded. "As well as could be expected for the first few weeks. They are still learning to focus on the tasks at hand, but they are learning."

The eyes temporarily transferred their stony gaze to the cowering demi-maren. "Patrols are successful?"

Jackle nodded, short mussy hair tumbling about his eyes. "Y-yes, milord. Ideya intake has increased."

"Very well." There was a moment of silence, the eyes still appraising the two maren. Reala continued to stand tall. Jackle continued to cringe behind him. He wasn't a genius, but he was very observant, and his senses were all screaming that whatever Wizeman wanted them for wasn't good. Something about the way the eyes gazed at them, the way he leaned down from his throne; Jackle couldn't place his finger on exactly what it was that bothered him, but he was perturbed all the same. 

Finally Wizeman spoke again. "You are content?"

Reala and Jackle both stared at him blankly, voicing their question at the same moment. "Content?"

"With your persona," clarified Wizeman.

Reala blinked; Jackle repeated his last action. "Persona?"

They looked at each other, then back up at their ruler; after a moment more of surprise, they both nodded. 

Apparently he thought he needed to elucidate again. "You are satisfied with the way you are seen by others?" 

Reala nodded again, but behind him Jackle faltered. Wizeman noticed the demi-maren's silence and focused on him once more. "You are not satisfied, Jackle?"

Jackle glanced down, still hesitating. Clawz's insult from some time ago came back to him. "_Soon as this maren finds himself a proper body._" Was he happy with they way people saw him? An insane, disembodied second fiddler? A mistake?

Finally he met his master's gaze. "No, my lord."

Reala inhaled sharply. To say you weren't satisfied with what you'd been given was to question---no, find fault with the master's design. Blasphemy, utter disrespect…from Jackle.

The demi-maren seemed to realize what he'd just said, and ducked back behind Reala with a squeak. Their king, instead of striking him down or ripping him to shards of dream energy for his insolence, was still. The hands circling them moved ever so slightly closer, their eyes firmly affixed on Jackle, but apart from that he did nothing.

Jackle visibly cringed under the eyes' open gaze, but remained silent; he didn't want to dig his grave any deeper. For a moment there was nothing but an uncomfortable silence.

Then, all at once, the eyes blinked; an eerie, perfectly synchronized movement. The two nightmaren watched with some trepidation as the hands all backed off a bit, and then a shadow fell over them as their lord bent down. His tone sounded as if he'd been deliberating for some time but had finally reached a decision. "Very well. We will begin."

"B-begin what, milord?" whimpered Jackle. His intuition was yelping for him to get out of this dark room, and get out now. 

"Your improvements," replied Wizeman tranquilly, and with one even motion he swept the demi-maren up into his palm.

Jackle only had time to realize that he was being put into something that looked very like a cage, and then every light in the universe went out.


	7. The River Floods

Disclaimer: Recently, I was sitting there wondering how the heck I was going to explain AC's non-canon name, and I came up with---nothing. However, several days after I came across the story Sonic CD, written by NetRaptor. In it she had a character named AP, which stood for Annoying Parrot. I e-mailed her concerning the naming issue, and she was marvelously kind. Therefore, this disclaimer: The name AC was my invention; however, Annoying Parrot, or AP, was NetRaptor's creation. She most kindly allowed me to use the name Annoying Crow for AC because it fit so darn well, so dibs on the name idea goes to her. She's a very very nice person, by the way, so go check out her site, people! It's www.netraptor.org . Go read her fan fiction, people! Go! Go! *makes shooing motion with her hands* She very very good writer, and very very nice person! Go read, go read! NO, WAIT! COME BACK AND READ MY STUFF FIRST!! HEY, YOU! YEAH _YOU_! GET BACK HERE!! Ugh...forget about him. You nice people who stayed around, read muh story. And review. THEN go to NetRaptor's site, and read HER stuff, and give HER a review. It will make us both very very happy if you do...*pitiful puppy face*

Bass: *gag*

Insomnia: *holds up a sign* 

Sign: Avis Does Not Own These Characters.

AC: Ner ner.

*backhands him*

_Chapter 7:_

The River Floods

__

We bring the past down with us as you bring your 

Sodden branches,

Froth on your yellow eddies and a few

Blind flowers floating like a dead bird's wing:

All that defiling refuse of old wrong,

Of long injustice, of the mastered man,

Of man (far worse! far worse!) made master---

Hatred, the dry bitter thong

That binds these two together at the last;

Fear that feeds the hatred with its stale imposture;

Spoiled, corrupted tramplings of the grapes of wrath...

We bring the past down with us, the shame gathers

And the dream is lost.

At The Lincoln Memorial, by Archibald Macleish

NiGHTS dodged behind a tree, panting. Had they seen him?…

Warily, he peered out from behind the trunk, feeling relief as the patroller continued on without noticing him. Safe.

Silently he slipped from his hiding place and took to the branches, following the patrol by leaping from tree to tree. It was an awkward way to travel, but one that kept him out of sight and forced him to stretch his mind and body to their limits.

He was playing a game of his, a secret sport he'd indulged in many times. Whenever a particularly sharp-looking group of patrollers went out on a round, he'd surreptitiously follow; he made a game out of trying to stay hidden, trailing the patrol without revealing his presence. He hadn't yet been discovered.

It had always been just a game, a form of entertainment; often he'd abandoned a patrol in the middle of a round, flying off to take a nap or play chase with some of the younger nightmaren. He never saw it as holding any importance.

Now, however, war was on the horizon, and he was worried. If NiGHTS was worried, then you knew things were serious. He never allowed anything less than a full-scale tragedy to trouble him.

Which, he was beginning to believe, could be a very possible occurrence. 

Really, he mused, digging his fingers into the bark of a swaying branch to balance himself, things were getting desperate. Clawz and Jackle were constantly at each other's throats, and Jackle was becoming unbalanced; no one else might know, but NiGHTS' room was right next to Jackle's. Many nights he'd heard the demi-maren go out on his balcony and talk. Talk to anything. That was the disturbing part; Jackle didn't seem to care if he was talking to an animate object or not. He talked to the stars, he talked to that crow that hung around his window, he talked to the reflection in his mirror, he talked to the castle itself. And what was really unsettling was the way he acted as if they'd answered him; he held conversations with the wallstones that lasted for hours, and although only one voice was discernable the discussion was definitely a two-person dialogue. 

Through these late-night chats NiGHTS, who's balcony was not visible from Jackle's but was within hearing distance, had learned much about the demi-maren. He'd found out about his lack of confidence, and his anger at being treated like something different; he'd also heard, sometimes, his fear of loosing grip. He'd begun to feel a sort of pity for Jackle.

But Jackle wasn't the only one. He'd been troubled the longest, perhaps, but the other High Seekers were beginning to encounter problems of their own. Puffy was shying away from the thought of war altogether, and was becoming more and more fretful and confused; Gillwing was bewildered by the underlying current of negative emotions networking through his "friends", the other High Seekers, when they were in the middle of what Wizeman held to be a glorious campaign; Clawz was becoming even more self-conscious and vain, spending all his time and energy devoted to proving himself worthy of Wizeman's attention, meanwhile harboring a feeling of resentment and malice towards Jackle, which was pretty much mutual; Gulpo…well, Gulpo wasn't saying anything. But then this was normal behavior.

The most distressing change had occurred in Reala. NiGHTS' brother had become the epitome of devotedness, exerting all his energy towards one goal: taking over the Waking World. He saw their mission as a campaign that would make their reign absolute, the final bid for power, the fight in which all would prove their respective worth. All of his sensibility seemed to have faded, deemed unimportant in the face of feverish dedication. The time he didn't spend training, he was busy plotting out battle strategies and fighting techniques. NiGHTS hardly saw him anymore.

All in all, he decided, the changes happening were not favorable. Everyone he knew well was slowly transforming into different creatures he wasn't sure he even wanted to be around. And no one had time for fun anymore…he didn't dare play a prank, for fear of tripping up somebody's schedule and angering his brother. What was life for if you couldn't have fun?

He frowned as he leapt from his last perch to an oak, clutching at the branch he'd landed on to keep from falling; below him, the patrol glided over the broad unnamed stream running through the Forest. Why, he himself, the joker extraordinaire, was troubled enough to bother with actually training. He'd been watching the younger nightmaren learn how to wield a sword, and it had struck him that he had no clue how to even hold a sword right. Once that realization had hit him, he'd begun to seriously question whether he was ready for a war. He was one of the fittest maren around, but he wasn't that good with weaponry…

Thus had his personal training program began. He spent a good deal of time now practicing; fighting moves were on his program, yes, but he focused more on stealth and flight. Reala, had he seen his brother training, would have either muttered or groaned, but NiGHTS wasn't interested in offensive tactics. He knew enough moves to protect himself, and he wanted to learn how to survive in a hostile environment. Thusly he'd begun teaching himself survival skills, such as covering his tracks or finding water in a dry area; he'd gotten Luna to teach him the basics of swordsmanship as well. And, while he wasn't Zorro, he was picking it up quickly.

He also worked on tracking; and that was why he was now following a patrol, trying his best to remain unseen. 

He ducked down behind a branch as one of the last nightmaren looked back, counting to ten before he looked out again. The patroller, apparently, had decided nothing was there, and was moving on again. NiGHTS followed silently after. That one maren was sharp; that was the third time he'd looked back. NiGHTS couldn't tell if he was getting suspicious, but he determined he'd better be more careful, just in case.

Not that it mattered; they were nearing Nightmare Castle again, the patrol having finished it's round without incident. The nightmaren below him left the cover of the trees, exiting Mystic Forest, and he watched them go from the shelter of the higher branches.

For a moment his solemn face peered out from the boughs, striped with the tree-shadows filtering down from the top of the forest; then, without a sound, he turned and disappeared deeper into the wood.

'_Dark. _

'Too dark. Why can't I see? It's so dark…silent. I don't like silence. It's too quiet…where's Reala? He was here. Where am I? WHO am I? Don't be stupid, you know who you are…I think…I'm…

'Who am I? I'm Jackle, I know that. But what am I here for? Why am I here? Where's here, anyhow? What's happening? I can't think straight…why can't I think straight? What's wrong with me? Why can't I see? I don't have any reason to be here…'

You don't have any reason to be anywhere.

'What?'

You're a helpless little nobody, you know that?

'Who are you?!'

You know me.

'No I don't.'

Yes, you do. I'm you.

'No you aren't!'

You talk to me all the time.

'No I---wait, you mean talking to myself? That's me I'm talking to!'

Right. And therefore, I'm you.

'I've never met you before!'

Like I said, you talk to me all the time. I'm always there, listening.

'I don't know you! I've never seen you!'

I was always there. All you had to do was look in the mirror.

'Go away.'

No.

'Go away!'

I can't.

'Why not?'

If I leave, then you won't have yourself anymore. And if you don't have a soul, then you're nothing. Of course, you already are.

'YOU'RE NOT ME!'

I am.

'Go away!'

Why aren't you accepting this?

'I don't want you in my head!'

If I go away, you'll have worse beings here.

'What are you talking about?'

You know.

'No I don't!'

You do.

'Will you just tell me what's going on?'

I have.

'Go away!'

You do like that saying, don't you?

'Why are you taunting me? I don't know where I am---I don't need you!'

Yes you do. Without me, they'll come.

'Who's they?'

You know.

'WILL YOU ANSWER ME STRAIGHT FOR ONCE?!'

I am.

'Go away, won't you?'

Is that really what you want?

'YES!'

Very well. I'm going.

'Thank goodness.'

You can have him.

'Him? Him who?'

I've tried talking to him, but he won't listen. I'm leaving; you can take my space once I'm gone.

'What do you mean? Are you talking to me?'

No. Here he is. Goodbye.

'Wait, what do you mean?

'Hello? Where are you? Where'd you go? I guess he's gone…good. But I still don't know where I am…'

Another voice broke through his thoughts. This one was lower than the last, carrying multiple inflections in each syllable, it's tone a sibilating hiss. He thought he could hear more than one voice in it.

_We know._

A scream ripped through the darkness.

Scream.

Light. Too much light. Too much blinding whiteness, reflecting off the galaxies and stars above and around, reflecting back with even harsher brightness. Too much light.

Suspended between two of his master's hands, held by a force he could not see, Reala screamed.

He felt energy streaking through him, crackling along his skin in darts of colorless lightning. Pools of energy gathered in his hands, squeezing through his fingers, splitting the skin at their tips with a horrible tearing sound. He felt energy flow through his face, pressing against his lips like a harsh kiss. Above him, his master concentrated. More power surged through him.

Light. Too much light. Too much blinding whiteness, reflecting off the galaxies and stars above and around, reflecting back with even harsher brightness. Too much light.

Scream.

Jackle clasped his hands over his ears, trying desperately to block out the terrible screams. Shuddering, he buried his head in his mantle, wrapping the cloth around his head; nothing silenced the ghastly sounds. He began to cry.

Another scream tore through the air, and he jerked his head up wildly, tears still streaming down. Endless darkness pooled about him. Blackness, everywhere black---everything black and screaming. He needed to get out. He needed to get out!

Weeping, he flew at the dark, slamming against the thick black; the darkness seemed to coagulate against him, repulsing him without a sound. Repeatedly he crashed against it, slamming himself bodily into the wall of shadow. Finally he collapsed, sobbing, unable to continue from exhaustion. Whimpering, he curled up into a shivering heap and tried to block out the screams once more.

No matter how deep he buried his head in his cloak, he could not hide from the screams. They were finding him, searching through the dark until they came upon him and wrapped about his face, he could feel them…Desperately he tried to claw them away, trying to relieve himself of the thick screams trapping him; his hands encountered air. There was nothing there. Nothing there at all. No one but him, and he was no one. He didn't even have the voices anymore…there was only screams, terror, and blackness.

Deep in Wizeman's throne room, a demi-maren wept.


	8. Drowning

~AN~ OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH! FFN ACTUALLY LET ME LOG IN _WITH MY WINDOWS XP!!_ *pant pant* Sorry, but for the past week or two I've been having trouble logging in again---those of you who go back and read people's reviews will know that I've had this problem before---and that means I have to go through the whole save to disk, unplug the keyboard, go downstairs, get the old computer running, upload disk, log in, put up chapter thing every time I want to update. *groans* It wouldn't be so bad if our old computer didn't take at least two minutes just to open a file. I was curious and clocked the uploading process once, and it took me _forty-seven minutes_ just to put up a chapter. *whistles* I don't like that old computer, if you haven't figured it out.

However, ffn, in an unprecedented act of amazing kindness, actually let me log in with my Windows XP, so to celebrate I'm putting up the next chapter early! And to thank you wonderful people who left such kind reviews, as well. Thanks! *blushes* Yeah, it's getting dark, but then this is a dark subject I'm trying to write about. Thanks again for reviewing...Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Hello. How are you? I am insane. Are you?

If you understood the above statement and did not consider it strange, then you are.

Chapter Eight:

Drowning

__

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he's dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

Oh no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.

Not Waving But Drowning, by Stevie Smith

NiGHTS was perched on a branch above the river, feet swinging, when he felt it.

"It" was a sharp jolt to his chest, almost like the stab of a knife; he clutched at his heart, nearly falling off the branch as he did so. What?…

He looked down, feeling a strange heat under his hands. Carefully he lifted them to find a faint red outline glowing clear on his chest. It looked like a sideways square, or perhaps a diamond.

Without warning, it was gone, just like that. No fading, no alert, just gone. So was the strange pain.

NiGHTS blinked, touching the spot gently; when nothing responded negatively, he rubbed it hard. There was nothing there. What in the dream world was that?

A minute or so of patient waiting brought nothing to light, and eventually he dismissed it as a strange but unexplainable occurrence. A bit shaken, he slipped off his branch and headed for a clearing he knew to be nearby, planning to do some cartwheels. Doing acrobatics always helped him think. He skimmed over the river water, kicking up a shimmering trail of spray, and wondering why he suddenly felt an intense desire to make sure his brother was all right.

Slowly, the energy dissipated, and the floating nightmaren drifted down into the palm of Wizeman's waiting hand. His screams stopped.

Pain like he'd never known faded, and Reala found himself capable of reasonable thought once more. He groaned, forced to breathe deep and gather some energy before he could even open his eyes. He found five giant eyes looking back at him. 

He blinked, then slowly put a hand to his forehead, trying to order his thoughts. Wizeman's voice broke over his mind like a tide. "How do you feel?"

"Ughn…" was Reala's answer, the Seeker General being too weary to even operate his mouth properly.

"Do you feel…different?" perused Wizeman.

This one gave Reala a pause. He focused on himself, and gradually became aware of a vague feeling of change about his body. His brow furrowed as he tried to translate the feeling.

He stiffened as one of Wizeman's hands hovered over him, it's eye closing in concentration; the sensation he experienced a moment later was not unpleasant, however. Energy streamed through him once more, but this time it was a healing motion; within moments he felt his strength returning. Greater might then he'd ever possessed flowed in him and did not depart. 

The eye hanging over him opened and evaluated him again. "How do you feel?" Wizeman repeated.

"Strong," replied Reala, sitting up. Instinctively he clenched his fists, marveling at the power gliding along his muscles; it was this motion that brought something to his attention. He looked down at his hands.

They were different. His once well-manicured nails were replaced by long, razor-edged claws.

He inhaled, taking in the cruel weapons now sprouting from his fingertips. Slowly he held a hand up before his face, waving his fingers gently, staring at the way the light glinted off the claws' polished surfaces. 

He looked back up to find Wizeman looking at him expectantly. "You gave me claws," he breathed.

The ruler nodded, a slow, even motion. "Stand up and see your improvements."

Reala stood as told, looking down at himself involuntarily as he did so. It was then he saw the reason for the lasting feeling of strength running through him; his entire build had changed. Before he had been slim, well-built but thin. Now muscles rippled along his arms and chest, well-defined by the striking red and black cloth he wore. 

"Impressive," he commented. The words were a bit rougher than he was used to, and he realized his voice had dropped an octave or two lower. Another strange feeling connected to speaking caused him to put his hand to his face; his lips felt odd under his fingertips.

Wizeman saw his confusion and held one hand out, palm facing him, willing the eye in the center to momentarily act as a mirror. Reala turned and looked at the glassy surface, taking in his new appearance.

Now he saw the reason for his discomfort when speaking. His mouth, originally diminutive and slender-lipped, was carved into a crooked line. It was small enough that the change wasn't easily noticeable, but when he smiled it curved up into a sharp, jagged smirk. 

That wasn't the only addition to his face. His skin had always been abnormally white, but aside from that he'd resembled any other nightmaren in facial features. Now two long, even scars ran down through the corners of his eyes, framing them in a sharp line of black; his eyes themselves were pale in color, a definite steel instead of the gentle forget-me-not blue they'd always been. Altogether he was a different, frightening creature.

He gazed at his reflection, taking in the changes he'd undergone. Wizeman's voice floated down from above him. "You have endured the test of re-forming, Reala. Now you are truly deserving of the title Seeker General."

The words brought back to memory the plan to take over the Waking World, and Reala felt a surge of duty. He looked at himself again, realizing that now, he looked fitting to be the general of the Nightmare forces, and his "reforming" took on a new light. He hadn't been tortured; he'd been perfected. Now he was finished.

For a moment Reala closed his sharp blue eyes, savoring the words his master had just said; then, he looked up. "I am honored to serve you as your general, my lord."

"Very good. You will do well as a leader, Reala."

Reala bowed low, sweeping his clawed hand to his chest in an elegant gesture. "Thank you, my lord."

Wizeman breathed a sigh, as if he'd just finished a task long planned and prepared for; then, he turned aside, looking in the shadows to their left. Reala followed his gaze, and his eyes widened.

Suspended in midair, a small silver cage floated in the shadows. It was delicately wrought, harking back to the design of the one far above them that held the room's light. It wasn't the cage that drew his attention, however; it was it's occupant. Inside a miserable bundle shivered on the floor, a ragged figure that was shuddering with wracking sobs. Jackle.

The demi-maren didn't seem to be aware of their presence; even as they watched, he lifted his head and looked about wildly, but did not seem to see his surroundings. Reala was shocked by the fear etched on the maren's tear-stained features, his hair tumbling about his frightened eyes in a ragged mess. Jackle didn't bother to wipe his face clean of the salty tracks running across it, but only huddled in a fearful bundle in the middle of the cage, eyes darting about as if he were surrounded by something terrifying.

Without warning he leapt up and flung himself at the bars. They repelled him silently, not showing a dent; he skidded across the tiny space, crashing to the ground in a tangled heap, instantly clawing his way to his feet and charging again. Again he was thrown back, but he continued to fling himself at the wall, as if hoping he could somehow break through by repeatedly slamming himself against it.

Reala watched with a sort of morbid fascination; then he turned to his master. "My lord, what is wrong with Jackle?"

"He cannot see what we see," replied Wizeman calmly, still watching the demi-maren beat himself against the cage's bars. "To him, he is surrounded by darkness, and he is afraid. He is trying to get out of the darkness and find someone else."

"May I ask why he is in there, my lord?"

"He is here because I wish to reform him also," replied Wizeman, and he finally turned from watching Jackle. His eyes focused on Reala, circling about him. "But that is not for you to see. You need to rest and regain your strength."

And before Reala could protest that he felt fine and didn't need to go to sleep, a sweet smell embraced him, and he dropped to the ground.

Wizeman turned away from the peacefully sleeping nightmaren and approached Jackle's cage. The demi-maren seemed to sense someone drawing near, for he halted in his useless attack of the walls and crouched in the middle of the cage, sightless eyes darting about in fear. He whimpered.

Gently Wizeman picked up the cage, holding it at eye level and inspecting the person within; after a moment, he reached out and opened the door, his voice deceptively quiet. "Come hither, little one."

Jackle's eyes flitted to the origin of the kind voice, trying desperately to see through the all-encompassing black. Again the voice, feeling strangely familiar and yet unknown like a faint smell of a long-forgotten herb, spoke through the dark. "Come to me, my child."

He staggered to his feet, face showing plainly his confusion; after a moment, he took a faltering step towards the door. Wizeman nodded, even though he knew the demi-maren could not see him. "Yes, my pet. Come to me."

Jackle took another wavering step, then halted, hesitating; he wanted terribly to be with someone, anyone, to speak with another person. And yet he was afraid of voices…

Wizeman allowed a small beam of light to make itself seen in the demi-maren's consciousness, gleaming dully for a moment before extinguishing without a sound. Jackle's face jerked towards where the light had appeared, desire for illumination showing strongly on his features. His voice came out as a cracked moan. "Be safe?…"

"Yes, little one. With me you are safe." 

That decided it. Slowly Jackle stumbled towards the voice, and as he reached the open door Wizeman put a hand to it, allowing the demi-maren to stagger onto his fingers. Once Jackle had reached the center of the palm he stopped, looking about in confusion. "Master?…"

"Here, my pet." Jackle looked up, blind eyes searching frantically for the owner of the voice. Wizeman reached down gently, placing a single stone finger on the demi-maren's forehead. " Soon you will be safe."

It was the last thing Jackle heard before pain such as he had never felt blazed through him. 

Scream.

Puffy was arranging a vase of flowers, singing under her breath as she did so. Happily she ascended the scales, increasing in volume as she went higher. Behind her Gillwing and Gulpo suffered in silence.

Clawz entered the Great Hall, tossing a snarl at Puffy as he passed her. "Shut up, will you?"

She jerked back, shock written over her features; then, her expression turned to anger. "Be quiet yourself, Clawz!"

The catmaren ignored her and leaped onto his chair, curling up into a graceful posture. Puffy's long ears were trembling with anger. "Why did you--"

"Because I'm annoyed, that's why," snapped Clawz in an irritated tone of voice. He growled and popped the claws on his right paw, inspecting them with a trained eye. "I'm supposed to be leading a patrol with Jackle right now, and the idiot's nowhere to be found."

"Why don't you just go out on your own?" asked Gillwing, then cowered under the usual round of "oh-shut-up-Gillwing" looks directed his way.

"Because Reala likes his orders to be carried out to a T," explained Puffy, forcing herself to calm down and return to arranging her flowers.

"And he'll throw a hissy fit if Clawz and Jackle don't do just as he says," continued Gulpo, breaking the surface of the water in his bowl to add his comment. Gillwing blinked. He always had a hard time understanding Gulpo. The fish was sarcastic and hermitical, preferring to lurk deep in his lagoon rather than socialize. For some reason he managed to get away with statements that would have gotten others the flaying of their lives, such as his saying Reala would have a hissy fit. The dull but honest Gillwing had trouble understanding the callused loner.

Puffy was humming again, having already forgotten her altercation with Clawz. Thankfully the catmaren didn't seem to notice her quiet rehearsal, instead staring moodily at the ever-present fire sparking in the fireplace. No one knew why, exactly, the fire was maintained in Great Hall at all hours, during all seasons; however, it was. One could enter the Great Hall in the middle of a summer day and the fireplace would be filled with a large fire, burning merrily. People had stopped questioning the tradition a long time ago.

Eventually Puffy finished with her floral arrangement, and leaned back to admire her work. Gillwing looked at the careful composition of lupines and jonquils appreciatively. "That's pretty, Puffy."

"Thank you," Puffy sang. Clawz rolled his eyes but said nothing. Gulpo, floating motionlessly in his tank, didn't even open his eyes. 

Jackle screamed as energy twisted through him, rippling through his skin like a lethal tumor. He felt it swirl around his face, writhing through every inch of his flesh, clinging to him with a heavy thickness. He struggled, unable to break free of the energy's raw grasp.

His mind was in chaos. The darkness around him had not dissipated, and he was frightened beyond anything he'd ever felt. His thoughts were disordered, confused. 

And then it stopped.

He floated in the darkness, exhausted from the changes that had been wrought on his unknowing body. Eventually he gathered enough strength to call out, his voice broken to a cracked whisper. "M-master…"

"Here, my child." A faint glow, too little to throw any light on the surroundings but still a bright spark in the darkness, flared up softly above him.

He lifted his trembling head, searching desperately for the owner of the voice. "Master?"

"I am here. You are safe. Rest, and regain your strength." And the light went out.

"No, master, don't take away the light…" But it was gone. And he was alone again.

Jackle whimpered, a weak sound that died out soon in the weighty darkness. The very forlornness of the noise frightened him, and he wished frenziedly for a sound beside his own ragged breath. Finally he called out. "Anyone…are you out there?…"

It was a silly question, and one that went unanswered. No one wanted to answer him. They were all too nasty to…they never liked him in the first place. Stupid second-level. Stupid little tainted second-level, messed-up little demi-maren. He wasn't worth anything…he was a mistake.

His voice wavered through the dark once again. "It's not my fault…"

He gasped as a voice---or, rather, several voices speaking as one---answered him. _Of course it's not._

He jerked himself upright, hands clenched so tightly that his nails cut into his palms and made them bleed. His nails weren't that sharp… Trembling, he accosted the air. "Who are you?"

_Friends._

He bowed his head, tremors making his skin twitch erratically; forcefully he answered them through his mind. _'I have no friends.'_

_That's what you think._

'I don't know you!'

_You may not know us, but we know you._

'How do you know who I am?'

You're a well-known person, Jackle.

'You know what I mean.'

We've been watching you for some time. You've heard us before.

'I haven't---'

He cut off. Suddenly the words came back to him. _"Neither can we."_

His mental voice was very small. _'You're The Voices.'_

The voices gave what he could only think of as a mental nod. _Very good. You're smart, Jackle._

He felt a flush of pride at the unexpected praise. He hadn't been complimented by anyone other than Gillwing for a long time. 

The voices gave another mental nod. _It's a pity; you deserve so much more than you get._

"Why do you say so?' retorted Jackle, his answer calculated for a double goal. One, to find out more about these strange beings, and secondly to perhaps get another compliment. 

The voices laughed, a strange, other-worldly sound of merriment. For a moment Jackle thought he could distinguish a slightly different tone to the mirth, an almost amused snicker; then it was gone, and the voices spoke again. _Isn't it obvious?_

'You're very flattering,' admitted Jackle. _'But the snake's the one who has the forked tongue---and the poisonous bite.'_

You're very intelligent, laughed the voices. _And very hard to convince. How can we show you our goodwill?_

'Get me out of here, for a start.'

The voices laughed again. _That's a start, truly. But before we begin on the subject of getting out, we want to offer our friendship._

Jackle paused, blinking, gold lashes fluttering in a show of uncertainty. _'Friendship?'_

Of course. You're the only one around here perceptive enough to hear us; why wouldn't we want to be your friend?

'Makes sense, I guess,' admitted Jackle. He frowned. _'But what would this friendship do, apart from give another person the power to hurt me?'_

A poetic soul, laughed the voices. _We'll give you something to lean on, for one. For example, a few moments ago you were ready to kill yourself in your fear. Now you're conversing as reasonably as if you were in your room._

That one made him pause. They had a point; he felt unusually calm now that he wasn't alone. Perhaps it would be nice to have companions. It would mean the end of that horrible silence…he shuddered. Anything but silence.

_'Maybe you're right.'_

Maybe we are, murmured the voices smilingly.

_'What will you get out of this?' _Jackle wanted to know.

_Like we said, no one else around here is smart enough to hear us. Now that we've found someone intelligent enough, we're eager to be friends._

'Alright, then. We're friends.'

Wonderful, the voices said in delight. _It's so nice to have a nightmaren friend._

'Speaking of which,' interrupted Jackle, _'What are you?'_

We knew you'd ask that. We're ethereal beings, consciousnesses without form.

'Right…sure. If you're just spirits without bodies, then what can you do besides give people weird dreams and heart attacks?'

Plenty, replied the voices amusedly. _We can give you everything you ever wanted._

'Whoa, there. Repeat that again, slower this time?'

We have more power than you think.

'Meaning?…'

You're a very intelligent being, Jackle, but you're in a bad position, and you're unstable. With us to help you through difficult situations and even out your thoughts, no one will be able to stand in your way.

Jackle clenched his hands into tight fists. _'How can I know you're telling me the truth?'_

Please, believe in us. Let us help you.

_'I...'_

He lifted his head, secretly wondering why it felt so much like he was handing his heart away on a platter. _'Very well. Help me make my life better.'_

Trust us, the voices said.


	9. Redivius

~AN~ Guess what? It's the end. *gets hit by a cyber tomato* Yeah, I know it's pretty mean to cut off like this, but don't worry---I'm working on the next one! As some of you know, I've decided that this is going to be a trilogy: The Lights In The Sky, The River Shall Flood, and the next tale I write will all be part of one trilogy of stories.

AC: And they needed to know this---why?

No reason. Just wanted to babble. *ahem* Anyway, enjoy. So that you know, 'redivius' is Latin for resurrection or Renaissance. Study the other chapter names and it might make sense.

Bass: Avis, nothing you do makes sense.

Disclaimer: I don't own half of these characters. You'll have to figure out for yourself which ones are mine. So ner.

_Chapter Nine:_

Redivius

The sadness we bring back from sleep

like an herb in the mouth…

sage?

rosemary?

like a fragrance we can neither lose nor 

keep…

woodsmoke?

oak leaves?

like the closing

softly of a distant…

distant?…

door…

Oh

Like earth on our shoes from an unremembered journey…

What earth?

What journey?

Why did we return?

_Waking, by Archibald Macleish_

NiGHTS looked down, again startled as his chest gave a sharp flare of pain. He halted mid-flight and hovered, watching his chest, expecting for it to start glowing or something equally odd; nothing happened. One small jerk, and that had been all. Nothing more.

He shook his head worriedly and resumed his flight to Nightmare Castle. He'd have to check in the Infirmary and ask if anyone had been feeling odd. Maybe he was sick or something.

Wizeman gazed down at his two creations, very pleased. He still had Jackle to speak to, but he had no doubt the demi-maren would straighten out after he had a bit of time to relax and understand the reasons for his reforming. Reala was flawless---his design was perfected, his personality shaping up nicely as well. He'd be a fine general. Pity NiGHTS wasn't the same mold.

Wizeman frowned. He still wasn't sure what to do with NiGHTS. The nightmaren was a jester, not a fighter; he was extremely intelligent, true, and would make a good strategist, but that was only if he could stop balancing water buckets on door jambs first. He'd probably need quite a bit of reforming…

A small sigh attracted his attention, and his hands turned towards where Jackle sat again in his tiny prison. The demi-maren was amazingly composed, and he had exhaled a quiet breath as if he'd come to a decision and was now content. He was still unable to see.

_'Interesting,'_ thought Wizeman, and beckoned with a languid finger. The cage floated to him, moving so smoothly it's occupant didn't notice. At a mental command it came to a stop at eye level, and he inspected the prisoner more closely.

Jackle sat still, hands folded quietly in his lap, legs crossed casually. His eyes were open, but empty of the fear that had filled them earlier; on closer examination, Wizeman saw that they were distant, as if he were listening to music from far away. After a moment he shook his head once, as if to clear it, and his eyes sharpened back into awareness. 

By the expression on his face, Wizeman could tell he was crestfallen to find himself back in endless darkness. _'Which means,' _he mused, hands moving to examine the captive from different views, _'that for a while he wasn't here mentally. A form of meditation, perhaps?'_

Jackle blinked and rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes. _'He seems to have just come out of intense concentration…Delicate and unbalanced minds are capable of such. He is able to tune out the rest of the world at will, then. A valuable skill, in certain situations…'_

Curiosity assuaged, he gestured with a hand and the carefully-wrought enclosure dissipated into silver mist. The demi-maren himself was left floating on air; because of the darkness still enclosing him in his mind, however, he felt no difference. Wizeman reached out, taking Jackle into his palm. _That_ the demi-maren noticed.

He started. "Who?…"

Wizeman reached down, brushing his fingertip against the middle of the demi-maren's forehead with a whisper of a touch so soft it was hardly noticeable. It's effect was startling.

Instantly Jackle's vision cleared, and he started violently, leaning back on his hands to stare up at his master with a bewildered expression bordering on fear. Wizeman gazed back down at him impassionedly. At last he spoke. "How do you feel?"

The demi-maren faltered, still trying to cope with being so suddenly brought back to reality. Respect of his ruler was ultimately what forced him to reply. "C-confused, m-master."

A rare smile touched Wizeman's face. "An honest answer."

Jackle blinked and said nothing, mentally trying to organize his thoughts and at the same time stifle the violent urge to fly out of here as fast as he could. Somehow he managed to wrestle down the impulse and force himself to think clearly. 

"Do you feel different?" asked Wizeman eventually.

Jackle had to think about this one. "D-different, master?"

_'He needs to work on that nervous stutter…' _"Yes, Jackle. Do you feel the same?"

"Sort of, master," he faltered. Truthfully he felt radically different---his mind had taken in so many different emotions within such a short period that he felt emotionally exhausted. Aside from that, however…

"Look at your hands."

He obeyed, and instantly his green eyes widened. Where before there had been sharp nails he now sported small, dagger-like claws.

He clenched his hands slowly, watching as the claws touched his skin and threatened to break through if he gripped too tightly; looking closer he could see the gashes where they'd broken through before. Little crescents of blood spotted his glove palm.

Wizeman's voice broke into his self-perusal. "Stand and see yourself."

He stood slowly, pulling back slightly as one of the hands moved up to float in front of him, it's eye reflecting like a mirror. Warily he peered in, fearing to find himself changed into something different, like a Minion. Or, Wizeman forbid, a _Nightopian_. When he actually faced his reflection, however, at first he didn't even see the difference; he was inspecting his body, fearing to have been changed into a creature of a different build. When he was satisfied he was still in a nightmaren form, he looked up to meet his own eyes.

They were all he could see of his face.

For a moment he couldn't even process what had happened. Held by a macabre fascination he leaned closer, inclining farther until he was nearly touching the eye's surface. It was only then he was able to figure out what had happened.

His body had always been invisible, but his head had been perfectly discernible. Looking at himself now, the only things able to be seen were his eyes; when his mouth opened slightly in shock, he saw that it too was still visible. But that was all.

He stumbled back a step, eyes locked on the reflection in front of him that was strangely different and warped, and yet somehow fitting. Finally he managed to speak. "M-my face…"

A giant eye settled next to him, staring unblinkingly into his visage. "Is now as the rest of your body. This, your claws, and your fangs are improvements I have been planning for some time."

The third item on the list prodded Jackle to pull up his lip in an experimental snarl. His canine teeth were now long and sharp, gleaming white in the ethereal light of the throne room. He closed his lips in a tight line and stared.

Wizeman's tone had not departed from it's constant faultless languor. "I believe this design to be more fitting of a High Seeker, and a leader of nightmare forces."

Jackle continued to stare, not answering, not wanting to open his mouth and see the wicked fangs, the eerie effect of the floating eyes and smile. He shuddered almost unnoticeably as a whisper of a new consciousness slipped into his mind. _Very striking._

'You mean grotesque,' he replied bitterly. _'I look even more deformed. I'm a mistake.'_

Even though he couldn't see them, he could have sworn the voices were smiling amusedly. _On the contrary, you are more ideal. You have been perfected. Few others are even worthy of the master's attention, and yet for you he spent hours making you as flawless as possible. Now you are worthy of your position as a High Seeker._

He looked at his reflection quizzically. _'You think so?…'_

We know so. Go ahead---smile. See how perfect it is.

Wizeman watched as the demi-maren scrutinized his mirror image, his face unreadable. For a moment his eyes took on the distant inward-looking he'd seen before; then it faded, and he stared at his reflection again. Experimentally, his expression half-wavering, half-curious, he smiled. His gaze flickered across the shining surface as the smile widened into a wild, ecstatic grin, his new fangs flashing in the dim light. Gradually the grin became real, and the merriment reached up to his eyes.

Now smiling not to see the effect but because of genuine feelings of glee, he turned to Wizeman, his grin more cocky than the ruler had ever seen. Something in his eyes flashed for a moment, and Wizeman almost thought he saw the light of another, more malicious consciousness in the second-level's eyes; then it was gone. But the cocky grin remained.

"I think," said Jackle cheerfully, "that it's absolutely perfect."


End file.
